Miss Parker Comes To Town
by Haiza Tyri
Summary: Miss Parker, Sydney, and Broots track Jarod to Mayberry, North Carolina and come into contact with many interesting townspeople, learning some surprising information about Otis Campbell along the way.
1. Miss Parker Goes To Jail

**Author note: I am well aware that the Centre and Mayberry occupy two different decades in time. I have completely disregarded this and set this story in a space-time continuum of its own. However, it does take place soon before Miss Parker meets Thomas.**

* * *

**Miss Parker Goes To Jail**

**Chapter 1  
**

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you were speeding."

Miss Parker glared out of her window at the tall, genial-looking sheriff with red-brown curly hair and suspiciously twinkling brown eyes. "I'm in a hurry," she snapped.

"Wa'al, ma'am, we can't allow you to speed through our town. We have a whole passel of young'uns about to get out of school for lunch, and it wouldn't do to hit one of them. Oh, no. I'm going to have to give you a ticket."

"Look, _officer,_ I'll drive slower. But I'm in a hurry, so let me go!"

"Sorry, ma'am. Can't do that."

"I'm not paying a ticket!"

"Miss Parker," Sydney said from the back, "it would be better just to take it and be on our way."

She slewed around and glared at him. "After what happened the _last_ time in a stupid, podunk town like this, I am _not_ taking anything from a rent-a-cop with a plastic badge!"

"Now, that's direspectin' an officer and flouting the law, ma'am. Would you step out of your car?"

Fury on her face, Miss Parker got out. The sheriff didn't blink at her short skirt and long legs.

"Now then, ma'am—" His hand flashed and arrested hers in its move toward her back waistband. "No, you don't." He relieved her of her gun. "Ma'am, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent…"

Half an hour later, Miss Parker was fuming in _another_ small-town jail cell.

"I told you, Miss Parker—"

"Shut up, Syd!"

"Well, at least it's nice," Broots grinned.

There were two cells in the jail, which also appeared to be the courthouse, and they were actually decorated with quilts on the beds, lace doilies, lamps, and pictures on the walls. Miss Parker glared at a doily as if it personally affronted her.

"It's a _jail cell,_ Broots."

Sydney was trying to reason with the sheriff. "Sheriff Taylor—"

"Oh, you can call me Andy. Everyone does, Mr.—"

"Call me Sydney. Miss Parker has a temper, Andy, but she didn't mean anything by it."

"She tried to pull a gun on an officer of the law, and we don't allow that here. Don't you worry. I'm sure you'll have her out of here in a few days, and meanwhile, Mayberry's a great little town, just great."

"I'm sure it is," Sydney said courteously, "and you have a most pleasant jail here, but it's not quite what Miss Parker is used to."

"Well, now, I'm right sorry about that, but I'm not making any exceptions."

"But we can't get our lawyer here for several days because of the storm in Delaware."

"I am right sorry," Andy Taylor said again. "Can't be helped."

The door flew open, and a thin, eager-looking man came in, carefully shutting the door behind him. "Hey, Andy!" he cried, "Aunt Bee says that—"

"Barney," Andy overruled him, "meet Sydney and Miss Parker. And—I didn't catch your name," he said to Broots.

"Broots," Broots said.

"And Broots, Barney. This is my deputy, Barney Fife."

Barney was staring at them, especially at Miss Parker. "You caught them, Andy?"

"I caught them speeding. And trying to assault an officer." He shook his head mournfully. "That's a mighty dangerous thing to do. Mighty dangerous."

Miss Parker gave Barney a very dirty look. "Look, Broots, it's your twin."

"I don't have any twin!" Barney exclaimed.

"Don't you worry about that now, Barn," Andy said. "Just go back to my house and ask Aunt Bee to bring enough lunch for three more. And tell her to keep Opie home, would you? And tell her I'll come to talk to her later."

"Sure, And." Barney gave Miss Parker another stare. "Gosh, And—"

"Just go, Barney!"

He gave a foolish chuckle. "Oh, sure, And." He hurried out.

"Now, you two just make yourselves comfortable," Andy told Sydney and Broots. "My Aunt Bee'll be in with lunch right soon. You're in for a treat. She's a goo-ood cook."

"Do you always treat your prisoners like this?" Sydney asked, bemused.

"Why, shore. 'Course we don't get much more'n moonshiners n'chicken thieves, mostly. We did just recently have a dirty cop in here, though. Boy, was he a mean'un. Woulda turned this town into his own private playground if it hadn't been for that Jarod feller."

Miss Parker bolted up and seized the bars. "Jarod?"

"Yeah, Jarod Griffith. Undercover cop from Richmond-way. You know him?"

"We've been looking for him," Sydney said. "Is he still in town?"

"He headed out yesterday. Looks like you just missed him. Pity. He said he does a lot of undercover work. Who knows if you'll be able to find him now."

Miss Parker swore, drawing an astonished glance from the sheriff. "What, don't people swear in this town of yours?"

"_People_ do. Ladies don't."

"I'm no lady. Did Jarod leave anything behind?"

"Wa'al, now, come to think on it, he did leave his notebook behind. Let me see." He rummaged in his desk. "Here it is. Looks like he was on to this crooked police man long ago. Funny way of keeping notes on him."

He gave the notebook to Sydney, who looked at it before responding to Miss Parker's imperious hand through the bars. The first article pasted in it said, "MAYBERRY'S POPULAR SHERIFF SUSPENDED." The second said, "CROOKED COP CAUGHT, SHERIFF REINSTATED."

"What happened?" Sydney asked.

"Wa'al, this policeman came to town. Big shot from Raleigh. And he started taking exception to the way things are run in this town. He suspended me for a good coupla weeks, brought in his own fellers. Suddenly he was running the whole town. Who knows how long it would have gone on if your friend Jarod hadn't shown up. He was working with Floyd at the barbershop first we heard of him. You can hear a lot of talk at barbershops. He found out about this man, that he wasn't really from Raleigh but was just using the name of a real policeman there, how he wanted a good staging ground for moving some dirty goods from place to place and figured keeping the local police off balance would be a good idea. It sure would have been, if not for Jarod. A fine man, very fine. Plays a mean guitar, too."

"Jarod plays guitar?"

"Sydney, it's _Jarod,"_ Miss Parker snapped.

"Oh, yes, Jarod and I had a coupla good times playing, though he _did_ say it was the first time he ever picked up a guitar. I wasn't sure if he was joking or not."

"He wasn't," Broots said.

"Wa'al, he sure was an extraordinary man."

"You can say that again."

"Shut up, Broots."

Andy stared at Miss Parker in astonishment again. He had probably never met anyone like her before. Then again, most people hadn't.

At that moment a woman bustled into the courthouse. She was short and stout, had grey hair coiled on top of her head and a round face with prominent teeth, a sweet smile, and twinkling eyes, and she carried a large basket.

"Oh, Andy!" she called, her voice warm and melodious, "here's your lunch. Barney brought me your message."

"Thanks, Aunt Bee. Where is Barn?"

"Oh, he's eating with Opie. I thought that was best."

"Good idea, Aunt Bee. Let me introduce you to our guests. This is Miss Parker, Sydney, and Broots. Folks, this is my Aunt Bee Taylor. She's the best cook in the whole state."

"Oh, Andy—" She blushed pleasurably, then did so again when Sydney took her hand and bent his head to her.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Taylor."

"_Miss_ Taylor, but you just call me Bee like everyone else does."

"What'd you bring me, Aunt Bee?" Andy pronounced "Aunt" like "Ain't" and put an element of warmth and affection into it that made the mispronunciation merely charming.

Aunt Bee started unpacking the basket. "I thought it was a good day to make your favorite fried chicken, Andy, and there's potatoes and succotash and baking powder biscuits, and I'll send Barney over with the pie when he's done eating."

"Better feed him plenty afore he comes, Aunt Bee, or there won't be any pie left when he gets here!" Andy grinned.

"Oh, don't you worry. He'll get fed up, right along with the boys."

"Boys? Oh, is that friend of Opie's eating with him? That's fine. Opie's my son," he explained, "and his friends seem to show up at the back door right about lunchtime. Everyone knows about Aunt Bee's cooking." He pulled a stack of plates out of the bottom of the basket, handed one to Sydney and one to Broots, who was salivating. "Tuck in, folks."

"Tuck in?" Sydney queried.

"Aren't you hungry? Have some lunch. You don't want to miss Aunt Bee's fried chicken."

Broots didn't need another invitation. He tucked in. Aunt Bee was piling a plate high with food. Crowning it with a fluffy biscuit, she brought it to Miss Parker's cell door, which Andy unlocked for her, and set it neatly on the small doily-covered table with a napkin, fork, spoon, and a tall glass of milk.

"There now, you just eat up, Miss Parker. I'll be by later to see if you need anything. This place isn't really set up for a woman, but we'll make it right comfy."

Miss Parker just stared at her.

"Do you always give your prisoners home-cooked meals?" Sydney asked.

"Well, we cain't have them going hungry," the sheriff answered, tucking in comfortably. "Wouldn't be legal-like."

The food was amazing. Aunt Bee stayed long enough to blushingly receive their compliments—even Miss Parker had to admit how delicious it was—and then trotted away. Andy saw her out. When the pie arrived intact with Barney, it was even better. Broots practically groaned with pleasure.

"Now, Barn," Andy said when they had finished, "why don't you show these two gentlemen to the hotel and then go out on patrol?"

"Uh, well, Andy—I thought I'd get some of that filing done—"

"Not now, Barn."

Looking considerably disappointed, Barney jerked his head toward the door. "Well, come on you two. I don't have all day."

"Oh, Barn—take this basket back to Aunt Bee, will you?"

"Oh, that'll look real professional, the sheriff's deputy carrying a big, fat picnic basket around on patrol."

Andy grinned, his eyes lighting with mischief. "You didn't have a problem with it yesterday, when you got to boast about being the first to try Aunt Bee's new meatloaf recipe."

Barney drew himself up to his full height, which was barely taller than Broots'. "Oh, that's manly, Andy, casting up a man's past actions to his face. Real worthy of you." He stalked out, slamming the door behind him. Seconds later it opened, and he stalked back in and grabbed the basket. "Well, are ya comin' or aren't ya?" he snapped at Sydney and Broots.

When the door closed behind the three of them, Miss Parker murmured, "He and Broots are Tweedledee and Tweedledum."

"You read _Alice In Wonderland,_ Miss Parker?"

She glared at Andy. "Nice tea party, Mr. Mad Hatter."


	2. Sydney and the Barber

** Sydney and the Barber**

**Chapter 2**

When Sydney and Broots had been installed in rooms at the hotel, they set out in search of the barbershop, finding it right where the hotel manager said it would be. It had been Sydney's idea to do some investigating while Miss Parker was locked up. She would not thank them, but at least she would not tear their heads off for a lack of initiative, either.

There was one man sitting in the barber chair with another waiting. The barber, a short man in his fifties with glasses, salt-and-pepper hair, and a somewhat foolish grin, gave them a smile as they entered.

"Oh, hi! Strangers in town? Ohh, that's nice. Why don't you have a seat? I won't be but a minute."

"Actually, we don't require your tonsorial services," Sydney answered.

"Ohh, really? Well, would you like a shave instead?"

Broots choked back a laugh. "No—we're just looking for information."

"Ohh, well, you'll find it here. We always have information, don't we, fellows?"

The other two men assented.

"Am I correct in believing you are Floyd, the barber of whom Sheriff Taylor spoke to us?" Sydney asked.

"Andy recommended me? How nice. Andy's such a nice fellow, isn't he, fellows?"

The other two men assented.

"Well, my name is Sydney, and this is my colleague Broots. We understand a man named Jarod worked for you recently."

Floyd's honest—but stupid—face beamed. "Jarod! Yes, he worked here. Ohh, was he a good barber! I wish he'd stayed on. I would have had people coming from Mount Pilot to get a shave! Ohh, yes, a fine man. People would come in here just to talk to him. He'd solve their problems just by talking to them while he worked. Like one of them—what do you call it? Psycho-trists?"

"Psychiatrists?" Sydney supplied, amused.

"Yes, psychy-atrists. He got little Laura Gerling's cat out of a tree, you know."

"That's not the normal task of a psychiatrist."

"Ohh, but he was good at climbing things, wasn't he, fellows?"

The other two men assented.

"Don't we know it," Broots muttered.

"And then he figured out that old Benson had a bad ticker by looking at how his skin was colored—kinda blue, you know—"

"Not enough oxygen," Sydney said.

"Yes! Are you a psycho-atrist, too?"

"As a matter of fact, I am, but we don't usually deal with heart patients. Did Jarod tell you anything about himself?"

"Oh, just that he liked to do things."

They both stared at him. "That is true," Sydney said slowly. "He _does_ like to do things."

"Oh, sure, he was always doing things. Fishing with Andy and Opie, tinkering with Goober—"

"_Goober?"_ Broots exclaimed.

"Yeah, you know Goober. Feller down to the mechanic shop with the funny hat. He even made Barney mad by helping old Emma to jaywalk when the dear old lady was trying to cross the street, didn't he, fellows?"

The other two men assented.

"What about the business with the sheriff?" Sydney asked.

"Oh, well, yeah, he did buy that old guitar of Andy's. Fixed it right up, and he and Andy would sit on that porch of a night just a'playin'—"

"No, I mean the trouble with the sheriff."

"He never got in any trouble with Andy," Floyd said, eyes wide. "Oh, no, those two were thicker than thieves. Why, he even helped Andy out of a spot of trouble—_ohh,_ that's what you mean! Yes."

"Yes?"

"He did it."

"Did it?"

"Yes, he did. Nice of him, too, when he was so busy here. Didn't seem like there was anything that Jarod wouldn't do for you."

Sydney sighed and gave up. "You're completely right. Thank you for your time."

"Glad to be of help. Y'all come back now, y'hear? We'll be glad to see you, won't we, fellows?"

The other two men assented.

As they left, Floyd called out the door after them, "Any time you want some of that tonsil servicing, I'll be glad to fix you up!"

Broots snickered. "Let's not tell Miss Parker about this. She'll want to service _his_ tonsils."


	3. Sheriff Andy Plays

**Sheriff Andy Plays**

**Chapter 3**

Miss Parker was sitting on her bed and trying to pretend like she wasn't listening to the sheriff playing his guitar. It could not be denied—even by her—that he was a very good player. He had played some rollicking songs of the sort you'd expect to find in a backwoods town like this, though with some surprisingly complex fingering, and then he had struck suddenly into something very classical, maybe Spanish, and now he was playing something mournful and haunting. He gave her a running commentary on them, whether she was listening or not. Jarod had taught him the Spanish piece, though where Jarod had learned it when he had never picked up a guitar before was a mystery. Now when he was done with his last melancholy piece, Andy Taylor said, "Jarod sure liked them sad songs. He said they reminded him of his lost childhood. You know, for a fellow who liked his fun, he sure had him a sad side."

"Oh, the poor baby," Miss Parker snapped. She was sick of hearing about poor little Jarod. Everywhere he went people sympathized with him. Mothers wanted to take him home and feed him, and psychiatrists wanted to solve all his problems. Mostly women, but a lot of men, too. "That boy sure was messed up," one man said admiringly. Everyone was on _his_ side and wanted to help him. _Why doesn't anyone care about _me? she wanted to scream at the kindly-eyed sheriff. _Why doesn't anyone care about _my_ lost childhood and _my_ motherlessness? It's all about what the Centre stole from poor Jarod. Well, what about what they stole from _me?_ Meanwhile, Jarod is still out there, free, flaunting his freedom at me, while I'm still in prison!_ And she didn't mean this pathetic, doily-infested jail. She could get out of here in two twists of a hairpin, and she was going to, as soon as everyone went home for the night. Too bad she couldn't blame this one directly on Jarod. He would have loved it if he had known her own stupidity got her locked up by the sheriff he had helped to reinstate. She could hear him saying, _"Look at it as a symbol, Miss Parker. You continue to play into the Centre's hands, and they continue to keep you locked up."_ The truth was, _Jarod_ cared. She wanted to tear his eyes out with her fingernails, and he kept…helping her. Sending her information about her mother, seeing past her angry surface to the child who wanted nothing more than to have Mama back. Would he still do it if he had no personal reason for keeping in contact with the Centre? Probably.

Andy was playing another sad piece of music. "So, how do you and Jarod know each other, Miss Parker?"

"We're pen pals," she said viciously.

"Then you've never actually met? You should. You'd like him."

"Oh, we've met." The problem was, she probably _would_ like him, if they had met at a club or worked together. He would make her laugh, help her to see life beyond trauma and manipulation and imprisonment. She would have no reason to hate him, and then maybe the fact that he could see the real Parker inside her would be attractive instead of dangerous and infuriating. Was he the only person who cared unconditionally? In some tiny, unacknowledged portion of her mind, she whispered, _"I hate you, Daddy, for what you've done to us."_

Andy Taylor seemed to understand something in her expression, for he said no more but played on.


	4. Opie Teaches Sydney a Lesson

**Opie Teaches Sydney a Lesson**

**Chapter 4**

Sydney and Broots had spent a few hours dropping into various businesses and learning more bits and pieces of what Jarod had been up to in the pleasant little town of Mayberry. Juanita at the diner spoke approvingly of his big tips and gentlemanly manner. The boy at the drugstore had awe in his voice when he told them about how Jarod had won an ice cream soda-eating contest and always treated the school children. A woman in the grocer's gave them a long lecture on how he had saved the moral fiber of the town when he ousted the false policeman. None of it was newsworthy or helped them know where he was going next, but Sydney liked to hear all these little details of Jarod's life, and Broots thought about what a nice thing it must be to live in a place like this, where almost nothing happened.

In the late afternoon, they turned back toward the courthouse, agreeing that Miss Parker was going to have their heads for not having checked in before. On the sidewalk outside, however, they were confronted by a little boy with bright red hair and a round face that ought to have been cheerful and instead was pugnacious.

"You're the strangers from Delaware, aren't you?"

"Yes, we are," Sydney answered, smiling.

"Why're you going around asking questions about Jarod?"

"How'd you know we were?" Broots exclaimed.

"I bin following your trail. I'm a good tracker, just like my Paw."

"Your father?" Sydney asked. "Who is your father?"

"He's the sheriff, Andy Taylor."

"Then you must be Opie."

"Yeah, I am. I'm going to be a lawman like him someday. He's the best sheriff in the whole state!"

"I have heard that he is indeed excellent," Sydney said courteously, which softened the boy's face.

"I guess you heard of him way up in Delaware?" He sat on the bench outside the courthouse, and they sat on either side of him.

"No, not so far as that, but we know Jarod certainly heard of him before he came here. Jarod always wants to help people who are most deserving of it."

Hero-worship for two very different figures struggled in the boy's expressive eyes. Filial loyalty won out. "Oh, my Paw woulda had those fellows sooner or later. But you shoulda seen Jarod! He run them out of town on a rail! That's what Paw said anyway. I don't know how you can run someone out of town on a rail. Unless he made them run down the railroad tracks. That woulda scared them good, if a train was coming!"

"Sounds like something Jarod would do," Broots grinned.

"If you know him so well, why're you asking questions all over town about him?"

"We haven't seen him in some time," answered Sydney. "We've been playing a sort of hide-and-seek with him all over the country. It's good to hear what he's been up to, if we can't actually find him."

"Fellows who can't be found don't usually want to be found," was Opie's next startling statement. "That's what my Paw says. What if Jarod doesn't want you to find him?"

"Then he shouldn't leave us clues," Sydney said softly.

"Opie Taylor!" An angry Barney Fife was bearing down on them. "You know your pa said you wasn't to hang round here today!"

"I'm not hanging round, Barney, honest! I'm just talking to the strangers."

Barney's voice became shrill. "Now, Opie, don't you try to find loopholes in the law! You go on home now!"

"Aw, Barney!"

"Go on!"

"Oh, all right." He got down from the bench reluctantly, then turned and faced Sydney. "I guess you haven't played hide-and-seek recently. A fellow plays hide-and-seek to _play,_ not 'cause he wants to get caught."

Barney stared after him as he marched away down the sidewalk. "Hide-and-seek?"

"That's an intelligent young man," Sydney said.

"He oughta be. He's Andy's son."


	5. Barney and Aunt Bee Are Concerned

**Barney and Aunt Bee Are Concerned**

**Chapter 5**

"Andy, do you know what your son's been doing?" Barney shrilled the moment they got inside the door of the jailhouse. "Well, do ya? He's been sitting out there on that bench talking to two strangers! _These_ strangers! How many times has he been told not to talk to strangers?"

"Wa'al, not too many times, Barn. Most strangers around here are nice folks."

"Well, I don't like it. You never know what might happen to a young boy these days."

"On the bench in front of the courthouse? Now, don't you worry, Barney. Opie's a smart boy."

"Yeah, well," Barney grumbled, "how smart is it to try to teach two grown men how to play hide-and-seek?"

"Hide-and-seek?"

"It was more of a mutual analysis of the art and philosophy of the game," Sydney interjected.

"Only _you,"_ Miss Parker said from her cell, "would have a conversation with a child on the street about the philosophy of a _game."_

"Thank you, Miss Parker."

"That was not a compliment. Where have you two been?"

"Investigating," Broots answered as they went up to her cell door. "All kinds of people have told us things about what Jarod's been doing in town. Nothing really important, but—"

"_I'll_ decide what's important. Tell me."

As they told her, Barney leaned over Andy in his chair and muttered out of the side of his mouth, "You know, I don't like having them here, Andy."

"Don't worry, Barn. Jarod had it all planned out."

"Yeah, but he didn't plan on getting—"

"Now, Barn. I don't want you worrying. Jarod wouldn't want you worrying. Why don't you do that filing you were talking about earlier?"

"Fine. But I'm going to keep a close eye on them two. Especially the shorter one. He's shifty. But you can tell he's got intelligence. The shorter ones are usually the smart ones of the bunch. _He_ wasn't the one grilling Opie about hide-and-seek. Oh, no. He was turning him inside and out with those shifty eyes of his, trying to learn all his secrets. I tell ya, Andy—"

"Barney," Andy laughed, "would you do the filing and let me do my paperwork?"

Barney did the filing, but he stood in a position that allowed him to sneak furtive glances at the three strangers in deep conversation. It was a very awkward position.

"Syd," Broots said quietly, "why do you suppose the deputy keeps staring at us?"

"I imagine he has never seen someone dress like Miss Parker before."

"Or maybe he's never seen a psychiatrist before," Miss Parker suggested, "and he can't decide whether or not he wants to run away."

The door opened, and Aunt Bee came in with another basket. "Time for supper, boys! And Miss Parker. Barney, weren't you and Thelma Lou going to go somewhere tonight?"

"Oh, no, Aunt Bee. That got changed. Uh—we were—uh, both busy. Look, at all this filing I have to do!"

"Oh, Barney, that can wait, can't it?"

"No, it can't, Aunt Bee! A sheriff's deputy is an officer of the law, and if he doesn't do his filing, the due process of law breaks down! Responsibility, Aunt Bee, is the by-word of the officer of the law. Thelma Lou knows I can't let our relationship get in the way of the due process of the law!"

"I suppose so, Barney." Aunt Bee's mouth was twitching. "It's a good thing I brought extra beef stew, then. Andy, are you coming home for supper?"

"No, Aunt Bee. I got paperwork to do. Due process of the law, you know." His eyes gleamed with mischief. "I'll be home in time to tuck Opie up in bed."

"Alright. But will you at least walk me to the corner? I want to talk to you about Opie's homework."

"Shore, Aunt Bee."

"And Miss Parker, I haven't forgotten about you. I'll be back later to help you fix up your cell for the night. I would have been earlier, but—well, you know how it is cleaning up after little boys, including those as are fathers! And cooking their meals, and washing their clothes…"

Broots bit back a guffaw with something that came out as a snort. Miss Parker only said, _very_ sweetly, "Quite. We women know what a task it is to clean up the messes men make, don't we? It seems like that's all I do these days."

"You poor dear. Well, I'll be seeing you."

Andy stepped out with Aunt Bee. "What's troubling you, Aunt Bee?"

"Oh, it's just that I don't like having them here."

"Wa'al, you and Barney both, Aunt Bee! You both said exactly the same thing. I shore am proud of Barn, Aunt Bee. Seems like he's learned to keep his mouth shut at last and not act all self-important-like."

"I think Jarod had a good influence on him, Andy. But, it worries me."

"Jarod's influence on Barney?"

"No, Andy, and you know what I'm talking about. Those three hanging around Mayberry."

"I know why it worries you, Aunt Bee, and that's 'cause you have such a warm, motherly heart. But it's all going to be alright, just you wait and see."

"You're so optimistic, Andy.

"Well, aren't I usually right?"

"Well, yes…"

"Alright, then. Now, how's our guest?"

"Not as well as earlier. I shouldn't have let him get up for lunch."

"But that's still better'n yesterday, isn't it? He was pretty bad yesterday."

"Yes, he is better today. I still wish the doctor could see him."

"Well, he can't. You just tell him I'll be round to see him later, after I put Opie to bed. And you, Aunt Bee, when you take him his supper, give him a big ol' kiss on the cheek. That'll make him better than any doctor."

"Oh, Andy."

"It's true! Now, you better talk to me about Opie's homework so's you don't turn into a big liar. How's Ope's homework coming, Aunt Bee?"

"Oh, it's just fine, Andy," Aunt Bee dimpled.

"Good. Talk to you later."


	6. Woman to Woman

**Woman To Woman**

**Chapter 6**

A few hours later, Aunt Bee returned carrying an enormous wicker basket. "Alright now, all you men clear out!"

"Alright, Warden Bee," Andy grinned. "I'll go put Opie to bed. Otis is due in sometime this evening."

"I know."

"You know he's still scared of you."

"I won't even look at him," she promised. "As long as he behaves himself."

"Otis always behaves himself. There's no viciousness in his character."

"Remember the cow?"

"Aw, that was a mistake, Aunt Bee! Anyone coulda made that mistake."

"Well, Otis was the only one who _did."_

"Well, I don't expect him to bring a cow in here tonight. Now, I'll be right back."

"Andy," Sydney said, "may we return later as well?"

"Why, shore! We could have us a little music. Do you play any instruments?"

"No, unfortunately. I would have liked to have learned violin, but I have never had the opportunity."

Broots and Miss Parker both stared at him. "Really?" Broots said. "I never knew that, Syd."

"It never came up," Sydney shrugged.

"Well, Debbie is learning the piano—that's my daughter. She's a bit older than Opie. But I can't play anything."

"That's a big shocker," Miss Parker said. "You guys better come back later, or I'll hunt you down."

When the four men had left, Aunt Bee said, in a lowered tone, "I didn't want to ask in front of the men, but do you have a nightie with you?"

Miss Parker laughed. Boy, this was a step back in time! "Yes, I have pajamas with me. Broots brought me my suitcase."

"Oh, good. I did bring you a nightgown in case you didn't have one, but it's always better with your own."

"I hardly think one of your nightgowns would fit me."

"Oh, of course not! I didn't bring you one of mine. I brought you one of Andy's."

"Andy's! A _nightgown?"_

"It's a gentleman's nightgown," Aunt Bee explained stiffly. "Very decent and clean and neat."

"I swear this town's a joke. I must be on Candid Camera."

"You are certainly very candid, but there are no cameras in this jail. Now, if you'll give me a hand, we'll hang up this curtain over the bars to give you a bit of privacy."

They hung the curtain in silence, Aunt Bee's dignified, Miss Parker's oddly uncomfortable.

"Look, I didn't mean to insult your town. I'm not used to all this." She swept her hand around at the doilies. "The place I work is like a small town where people are ready to kill each other to move up in rank. They don't bring their prisoners home-cooked meals and their nephew's nightgowns. I don't think any of the men even wear nightgowns. Except maybe Mr. Raines." She almost chortled at the thought of Raines in a long, white nightgown, with lace at the neck.

Aunt Bee gave her a friendly smile. "Well, Andy really only wears this one when he's called on to officiate at a midnight wedding." She did not notice Miss Parker's uncomprehending stare. "Now, I brought you an extra pillow and some nice-smelling soap, and in the morning I'll see about Andy letting you go over to the hotel for a bath. This place just isn't fit for a woman. I think you may be only the third or fourth woman I've seen in here."

"Quite a change from your normal moonshiners and chicken thieves," Miss Parker said contemptuously—but keeping the contempt to a far lower level than she would have used on Broots. There was no fear of her in Aunt Bee. That alone was a novelty. She was not used to being spoken to like another one of the girls.

"Oh, yes, quite a change. Though really these cells are empty more often than not. Andy is such a good sheriff that Mayberry has the lowest crime rate in the state."

_Maybe we should move the Centre here,_ Miss Parker thought, amused. "And his deputy, Barney Fife, is a great help, I'm sure."

Aunt Bee drew herself up and looked her straight in the chin. "You may say what you like about Barney, but there's no one more loyal, Miss Parker!"

"Oh, quite. What can you tell me about Jarod?"

Aunt Bee's whole face softened. "Oh, such a nice young man. He would have fit in here perfect, Miss Parker. He told me he loved Mayberry from the moment he first set foot in it. He said he felt like he'd come home. That's what Mayberry is: home. Some people don't like our quieter pace of life, but most people find it soothing, and Jarod was one of them. He seemed to need an awful lot of soothing, poor boy."

_Don't we all,_ Miss Parker thought bleakly. "Did he happen to mention where he was going next?"

A strange look came over Aunt Bee's face. "Oh…no—no, he didn't. All I know is he set out to walk to Mount Pilot yesterday to catch a bus. It woulda been a long walk—it takes an hour to drive there—and he could've caught a bus here, or Andy or Barney woulda driven him, but he said, no, he wanted to walk and think about things. He was a little strange that way."

"A _little_ strange? The ways Jarod is strange would fill a library. And he didn't say where he was going?"

"No…" Aunt Bee said, still with the same expression. Miss Parker decided she must not be comfortable with lying.

"Well, did he read any newspapers while he was here? Any out of town papers?"

"The only ones we get are the weekly newspapers from Mount Pilot and Raleigh. No—wait. The schoolteacher gets one he'd borrow from her…what is it? Some fancy paper from New York City."

"The New York Times?"

"Yes, that's it! Fancy you knowing that!"

Miss Parker bit back a sarcastic comment. _New York Times. We need to get Angelo to look through the last few weeks' New York Times, pinpoint exactly what Jarod would be interested in there. _Where_ are Syd and Broots? If we can get on it fast enough, we could have sweepers there before he knows what hit him…_


	7. Andy's Guest

**Andy's Guest**

**Chapter 7**

After hearing Opie's prayers and kissing him goodnight, Andy went down the hall to his own bedroom, where their sick guest had been tucked up by him and Aunt Bee over his protests yesterday morning. He peered in quietly, trying not to wake him, but he was already awake.

"Howdy, Jarod. How you feeling this evening?"

"Like an imposition," Jarod said hoarsely.

"Wa'al, you can just stop it, 'cause you're not. After everything you've done for us, it's nice to be able to do something for you, and you'd still be welcome even if you hadn't done a lick of work."

"But I'm putting you all in danger! Your son—he talked to Sydney and Broots today—"

"Did Opie come in here bothering you?" Andy frowned. "After his eavesdropping yesterday, I should oughta have grounded him to his room for a week."

"No—he was no bother at all. I like to hear him talk. But I'm putting him in danger—all of you—"

"Oh, Jarod, you stop your worrying. No one knows you're still here except Aunt Bee, Barney, Opie, and me. You scared Barney so good with your Centre talk that he's afraid to open his mouth around Miss Parker, Aunt Bee has a mother's heart even if she's never been a mother, and Ope's ready to march to Delaware and kick down the doors of your Centre himself. Plus that boy can keep a secret, and don't I know it! Nobody's ever going to know you're here. Anyway, I'm the sheriff. I can arrest anybody I like, and Barney knows the rulebooks so well nobody can trip over a sidewalk without him giving them a ticket for some durned thing. Now, that's the end of it. I'm glad to hear you were able to keep some food down today."

"So was I. The flu has been a completely new experience," Jarod said dryly. "Usually I like new experiences, but not this one."

"No one does," Andy answered with a grin. "I know just how to cheer you up."

He reached outside the door and picked up the guitar he had leaned against the wall. As he pulled up a chair, sat down, and began to play, Jarod smiled and leaned his head against his pillow. Andy played the cheerful country and folk songs he liked to sing with Opie and guests who came over, pleased when the smile stayed on Jarod's face. That man needed to be given more opportunities to smile, Andy was convinced. There were too many instances when his face had looked just like the face of a boy he had known when he was a teenager. The boy had come to live in Mayberry after his whole family had died at the hands of a gunman in Chicago, and his face had stayed with Andy for a long time. Maybe that was one of the reasons he had become a lawman. He couldn't clean up Chicago, but he could keep Mayberry clean. He had almost failed recently, would have failed, if not for Jarod. He really should have turned him in when he found out he was impersonating a policeman, but he couldn't do it, not after what Jarod had done for Mayberry. Not after finding out why his face looked so much like the face of the boy who had lost everything.

Jarod _had_ set out to walk to Mount Pilot early yesterday morning. Later in the morning Andy and Barney had been driving in the squad car on their way to investigate some small ruckus on a chicken farm (coyote eating the chickens, it later came out) when they noticed what appeared to be a body in the bushes and discovered with alarm Jarod collapsed there on the ground. It was a particularly nasty and fast-acting virus that had completely wiped him out. (A few other people in town got it, but thank the good Lord it didn't become an epidemic.) They thought he was off his head when he frantically told them to leave him and refused to let them take him to the doctor. He _was_ halfway off his head as he raved about Centres and Miss Parkers and breadcrumbs, but they gleaned enough straight sense out of him that they took him straight to Andy's house and smuggled him inside without anyone seeing. To anyone in Mayberry, Jarod was long gone. Aunt Bee had to be told, of course, and she cared for him as if he were Andy or Opie. Opie was just told to keep his mouth shut, but when Jarod explained some of the real story later that evening, Opie was eavesdropping outside the door. Maybe in the long run it was a good thing. He'd find it easier to keep quiet if he knew why and his sympathies were engaged than if he were just told to.

Andy could hardly believe the story, though he knew Jarod wasn't lying to him. That children in _his_ blessed United States of America should be kidnapped, held captive, and chased down like fugitives from justice when they escaped was beyond his comprehension. He had wanted to go straight to Raleigh, tell the story to any official who would listen, and get something done about it. He'd practically had to sit on Barney to keep _him_ from doing so while Jarod explained why they couldn't. In the end, he had made Jarod agree that when he was finally ready to bring the Centre to justice, he would let Andy up.

"See, I'm a father," he said. "I know what it must be like for your father. And then I'm a policeman—_and_ a justice of the peace. _Justice,_ Jarod, and _peace._ That's what I'm after, and not just in Mayberry."

They hatched the plot together to keep Miss Parker locked up and off balance until safely out of town, but Jarod had made him promise not to judge her too harshly. "She's a prisoner of the Centre, too. They succeeded in brainwashing her where they didn't with me. You see, I had Sydney to raise me. She only had her father. Between the two, I'd take Sydney. I think she would, too, though she'll never admit it."

And having seen her, Andy knew what he meant. There was a whole lot more going on in that young lady than her hard, angry surface revealed. She had something of the look, too, of the boy who had lost everything. Maybe that was why he had played his guitar for her, too, because he knew he had a special touch with a guitar. It had an effect on people. It had had an effect on her, though just what he wasn't sure.

When Andy stopped playing and pondering, he found he'd played Jarod to sleep. Not everybody could go to sleep to "Oh, Susanna" and "You Get A Line, and I'll Get A Pole," but Jarod wasn't like most people. Maybe it was soothing to go to sleep to something lively and cheering. The boy Andy had known had liked to hear him play that kind of music, too. Andy wondered what had become of him, as he walked back to the jail. Maybe he should look him up.


	8. Grandmaster Fife

**Grandmaster Fife**

**Chapter 8**

Aunt Bee was still at the jail when Andy got back. Sydney and Broots were there, too, Sydney pulling a checkered game board out of a neat leather case.

"Well, Miss Parker, I hope you'll be comfortable now," Aunt Bee said.

"I'm sure I will, Aunt Bee," Miss Parker said in so courteous a tone that Broots and Sydney stared at her.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then. Andy, how did you find things? Did that boy get off to sleep?"

"He shore did, Aunt Bee. I played him a coupla songs and left him sleepin' sound."

"Good. Like all boys, he needs his rest."

"He shore does." He kissed her cheek. "Good night, Aunt Bee. I'll be home later if you need anything."

"Alright, Andy. Good night, everyone!"

"Good night," Broots and Sydney chorused. Miss Parker caught them stealing another glance at her.

"Syd, I am _not_ playing chess with you."

"I didn't think you would," he answered. "I was in the middle of working out one of the great games when you dragged me away on this little adventure, so I brought it along."

"Shouldn't you be _working,_ instead of playing games?"

"It is work. Chess helps me to think when I'm working out a particular problem, and it is of great help in psychiatry. You can learn a good deal about another person by watching him play chess."

"Yet another reason why I will never play with you. Can't you ever shut it off, Syd?"

"Shut off what?"

"You know what. Your constant analysis."

"You know I can't, Parker. You can't shut off who you are. I thought perhaps I could interest Broots in a game this evening."

"Oh, I'm no good at chess," Broots said. "I'm more of a solitaire player."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Miss Parker snarled softly. "You'd spend all day moving little cards around all by yourself just for fun."

"Perhaps Andy would care to play a game of chess?" Sydney went on as if no one had said anything.

"Wa'al," Andy said, "I've never played before, but I know a little about it, and it seems an interesting sort of game. Why not?"

He sat down and watched Sydney's long hands set up the pieces. They were small but heavy pieces, carved beautifully out of black and white stone. Sydney explained how each of the pieces moved, and they played a slow beginner's game, which Sydney easily won.

"This surely is an interesting game," Andy said. "There's a lot of thought to it. You got to be like a general in a war, sending out your troops while figuring out what the other fellow's tryin' to do. I see what you mean by it teaching you about how another person thinks. Let's play again."

Sydney kept winning, but his eyes watched Andy's face with an expression of respect. Andy was a rank beginner, but it was clear he had the makings of a fine player. He had an instinct for comprehending the mind and intentions of his opponent, and once he got the hang of the play, he deployed his troops wisely. He was truly fit for his role as sheriff, and if he had ever had the opportunity, he would have made a name for himself in a much larger setting. He wasn't a big risk-taker, though, not ambitious, content in his quieter sphere. Sydney could see all this clearly in the way he played the game. He wondered if Andy could read him in his play the same way, could see how he played not to win but to understand.

Barney burst in at the end of their fourth game. Even Miss Parker was watching by now. She barely deigned to give Barney a glance as he came up to the game board.

"Chess! I didn't know you played chess, Andy!"

"I didn't, until today. It's a fine game. Do you know how to play, Barney?"

"Well, of course I do! I used to get those Grandmaster quarterlies—you remember those. Secret chess moves and things. Play chess by mail. 'Grandmaster Fife,' they used to call me."

"Grandmaster?" Sydney glanced at him sharply. "I was not aware there was a Grandmaster in North Carolina at this time."

"Oh—well," Barney said, abashed, "I'm not really. They just called me that. Nickname, you know."

"Barn, why don't you sit down and play? Sydney's already walloped me four times. Let's see if you can restore the good name of Mayberry for us."

"Well, I don't mind if I do." Barney cracked his knuckles and sat down in the seat Andy vacated. "If you just learned today, And, it's no wonder just anyone can beat you. It takes a professional to do this right, you know."

There was a suspicious twinkle in Andy's eyes. "Oh, I know, Barn."

"You have acquitted yourself well, Andy," Sydney assured him. "You are an excellent chess player."

"Why, thank you, Sydney. That's real nice of you to say. Uh, Barn, the knight and the bishop go the other way around."

"I know!" Barney exclaimed indignantly, quickly switching them. "I was just testing your new skills."

"I guess my new skills are pretty good then."

Barney's chess play was exactly what Sydney expected it to be, a flurry of chaotic movements, the occasional lucky break, and no strategy at all. Sydney tried not to beat him too quickly, but it was difficult not to when he practically set up his own king's checkmate.

"Wa'al, Grandmaster Fife," Andy said, a gleeful chuckle deep in his voice, "I guess you were right about needing a professional to do it right. That was a good demonstration."

Barney glared at the chessboard, hot-faced. "I'm not used to this chessboard. Playing with a strange board puts a cramp in my style! Anyway, I'm much more of a checkers man. This newfangled chess stuff is alright for _some_ people, I 'spose, but checkers takes real skill."

"Hey, I like checkers!" Broots said.

Barney sprang up. "Don't we have some checkers around here somewhere, And?"

"Somewhere. Look in the back room." Andy took Barney's spot, and as his twinkling eyes met Sydney's, they both grinned. Barney Fife was an open book to both of them.


	9. Otis Campbell, Man of Mystery

**Otis Campbell, Man of Mystery**

**Chapter 9**

It was late when Otis Campbell stumbled into the jailhouse. Andy had lost game after game of chess but was acquitting himself better and better each time, learning rapidly and surprising even Sydney with some of his innovations. Broots and Barney were having head-to-head pitched battles over the checkerboard, and Miss Parker, pretending to be bored out of her mind, was reading a book Aunt Bee had brought her, a horrifically wholesome book with a surprisingly good plot. Even she looked up, though, when the door crashed open and a stout man stumbled through it.

"Oh, hi, Otis," Andy said and moved his bishop. "Check."

Otis was short and fat and balding with a round, good-natured, but completely drunken, face, and he wore a rumpled, soiled white suit and a white hat. "Oh, hi, Andy," he slurred, staggering down the step inside the door. "Having' a party?"

"Nah, just keeping a friend company. Looks like you've been having a party yourself."

"Jus' keeping some friends company," he chuckled and rolled his way across the floor to the other cell. Miss Parker, Sydney, and Broots all watched in astonishment as he went in and pulled the door closed so that it locked behind him. As one they turned to stare at Andy.

"Otis comes in here most Friday nights to sleep off his drinking," Andy explained conversationally. "Alcohol's illegal in this county, you know."

_"Illegal?"_ Miss Parker exclaimed. "What have we done, gone back in time to the Dark Ages?"

"Naw, there was plenty of drinking going on back then. This county's been dry since Prohibition. That's probably a big reason why it's so peaceful. We recognize that drinking destroys lives faster'n a lot of things. Look at Otis and his wife."

"Yeah, m'wife never made me so happy as one good still," Otis grinned.

"Maybe if'n you thought about making your wife happy, things would go better."

Otis waved off Andy's moralizing. "Andy, d'ya mind if I shtep inter the back room?"

"Go ahead, Otis."

With even greater astonishment, the three trackers from Delaware watched as Otis reached through the bars to the key ring hanging up on the wall between his and Miss Parker's cells and unlocked his cell, hanging the key back up before stumbling into the back room. They had all seen it hanging there and thought nothing of it, assuming it to be for the filing cabinets or something, never once entertaining the thought that someone would be so dim as to leave the jail key hanging where the prisoners could reach it. Andy caught Miss Parker giving Sydney and Broots meaningful glares and grinned to himself. When Otis came back and locked himself in his cell again, Andy took down the key and held it out to the drunk through the bars.

"You better sleep on this tonight, Otis."

"Hey!" Barney said, "you can't do that! Only authorized personnel's allowed to have the key!"

"Alright. Otis, I'm deputizing you for the night."

"Aw, Andy, I don' wanna be a dep'ty. I hate bein' a dep'ty. Barney always gets me in trouble when I'm dep'ty."

"Not this time, Otis. Now hush up and take the key. Satisfied, Barn?"

"I suppose," he grumbled. "Though it's just ridiculous."

"As much as I hate to agree, it's the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen," Miss Parker said.

Otis jangled the key at her. "Now, Catherine, don' you be sayin' that. I know you seen plen'y more ridcluous—riliclidous—riculous—things."

Miss Parker sprang up and seized the bars of her cell. "_What did you say?"_

"Relicuous," Otis said proudly. ""Seen plen'y of that. Ever ridden a cow? _That's_ relimiculus."

"You called me Catherine!" she shouted at him. "Why did you call me Catherine?"

"S'name. Nice name. Catherine Parker. Ver' good name." He collapsed onto the bed in his cell and promptly began snoring.

"Otis!" Miss Parker shouted at him, trying to shake her bars. _"Otis!"_

"It's no use, Miss Parker," Andy said. "He's out like a light. You'll have to wait until tomorrow to get your answers."

She hit the bars with an exclamation of rage. _"Jarod!_ He planned this! He knew I wouldn't leave until I got information out of this drunken idiot!"

"Hey, now. Otis is a drunk, but he ain't an idiot."

"Why'd he call you Catherine?" Barney asked. "Is that your name?"

"It's my mother," she muttered. "She…died when I was young. I look just like her."

"Wow," Barney breathed. "Do you think he knew her?"

"No, I think he's psychic!" Miss Parker snarled. "I'm going to kill him!"

"Why would you kill Otis if he's got information you want?"

"Not _Otis!_ Jarod! I'm going to kill him. He _knew_ this was going to happen."

"Oh, come on," Andy protested. "How could he know?"

"It's _Jarod._ He does things like this! He's probably sitting in New York laughing at me!"

"New York?"

"Parker, you know that when it comes to your mother, Jarod doesn't laugh at you," Sydney said gently.

"Maybe not, but he's still happy to put me in these situations!"

"That's true. He is. Tit for tat, perhaps."

"Shut up, Sydney! Just go away, will you? All of you—go away and leave me in peace!"

Sydney began collecting his chess pieces without another word, but Andy shook his head.

"Sorry, Miss Parker. Barney's staying here overnight."

_"What?"_

"We can't leave prisoners alone in the jail. But don't you worry. He'll sleep on the couch in the back room and never bother you."

Miss Parker gave Barney such a glare that he flinched. "He'd better not." She twitched her curtain shut, and no one got anything else out of her.


	10. The Sheriff Without A Gun

**Night Watch,**

**or, The Sheriff Without a Gun**

**Chapter 10**

As Andy locked the courthouse door behind them, Sydney said, "Andy, in the morning would you direct me to the schoolteacher's house?"

"The schoolteacher? Why?"

"Miss Parker understands from your Aunt Bee that the schoolteacher gets the New York Times, and we would like to borrow some back issues."

"Oh." Comprehension dawned. Andy bit back a grin. "I'll do better than that. I'll take you there myself and introduce you. Helen's a good friend of mine."

"Thank you, Andy. Good night."

"Good night."

He watched the strange pair walk away toward the hotel, the short, thin, nervous man and the tall, accented, dignified man talking quietly together—probably about how Jarod was in New York. Well, that would be useful.

Andy walked home and found the house dark and quiet. He peeped in at Opie and found him sound asleep in his usual tangle of blankets and sheets, as if he had been fighting off bad guys in his sleep. He peeped very quietly into his own room and found Jarod uneasily asleep, twitching and muttering. _Poor boy,_ Andy thought as he went back downstairs. He couldn't decide whether to think of Jarod as a highly competent fellow officer (though he knew he wasn't) or a boy just about Opie's age. To Aunt Bee he was all boy, but then, so was Andy most of the time, out playing at cops and robbers with Barney. He shook his head and grinned.

Aunt Bee had just laid out his pajamas and robe on the couch downstairs, but he set them neatly on a chair and simply took off his uniform shirt, belt, and shoes. Then he went to the china hutch against the wall and took his pistol down from the top of it, loaded it with bullets from the drawer, made sure the safety was set, and took it with him to the couch, slipping it in the crack between the cushion and the arm, right where Aunt Bee had laid out his pillow. He was known as the sheriff without a gun, but he _did_ have a gun, even if he didn't carry it in the normal course of his duties, and he _had_ used it.

He wasn't quite sure what to expect tonight. He hoped for a good night's sleep for everyone without interruptions, but it was just possible that all that talk of New York and Catherine had just been a ruse, to make him believe Miss Parker had good reason to stay in that jail cell. He had no doubt that she could get out as easily as stepping out of her own house. She was that kind of person. The question was, _would_ she? Did she have any reason to suspect that her prey wasn't far away from Mayberry but tucked up helplessly in the sheriff's house? It she did and came looking for him, Andy could not face her without a weapon of his own. Here in Mayberry he could get away without a gun for the most part. Most of the people respected him and the force of the law. Other times he'd been able to use his wit, ingenuity, and knowledge of people to do his work without sticking a gun in people's faces. That would work on both Sydney and Broots, but not on Miss Parker. Trying to talk her down wouldn't do anything. She respected superior force, not law, and she would fight dirty. She thought that was an advantage, and oftentimes it was, but she wouldn't understand the advantage of being morally in the right, of respecting law and goodness above mere physical force and power. She wouldn't understand how a man could sacrifice himself for what was right. And there both Andy and Jarod had the advantage over her.

Andy lay on the couch thinking for a while and then finally willed himself to sleep, but not too deeply. He had the capacity of a good policeman or a good soldier to remain alert while getting some rest, and he would have known it instantly if someone had tried to come in the front or back doors or any of the windows, or even if there were any unusual sounds outside. There weren't, and the Taylor household slept in peace all night long.


	11. Spilling the Beans

**Spilling the Beans**

**Chapter 11**

"How ya feelin' this morning?" Opie greeted Jarod.

Jarod smiled at him. "Better. I hope I can leave today."

"I don't. I like having you here!"

"I like being here, but I don't like putting you in danger."

"Aw, that's okay. We don't mind. My Paw can handle any bad guys!"

Jarod laughed. "Your Paw is a great man, Opie."

"He sure is! Is your Paw?"

"I don't know. I hope so. I haven't met him yet."

"Oh, really?" The boy's quick eyes took in something in Jarod's face. He had a good deal of his father in him. "I bet you want to meet him real bad. Anyone would want to meet his Paw. I bet you he's a real good man, just like my Paw."

Jarod's mouth compressed. "Thank you, Opie. So you met Sydney and Broots yesterday. What did you think of them?"

"They were a lot nicer'n I thought they'd be."

"That's true. They _are_ nicer than you'd expect. Sometimes I forget how truly nice they both are."

"Then why are they chasing you?"

"Because even the nicest people can make the stupidest decisions. You have to have _wisdom,_ too. Neither of them has much wisdom."

"And neither has Opie," Andy said, coming into the room. "It's not wisdom to come bugging a sick man in the morning."

"It's alright, Andy. We've been having a good talk."

"Wa'al, alright, then. Ope, get yourself down to your breakfast."

"Alright, Paw. See you later, Jarod."

"See you, Opie."

"I see Aunt Bee brought you your breakfast already." Andy gestured at the empty tray beside Jarod. "You must be feeling a whole lot better to clean it up like that."

"I am. I'll be able to leave today." Jarod seemed to expect Andy to contradict it, but instead he nodded thoughtfully.

"That might be best, for you and for us. We shore like having you here, Jarod, but you have things to do, and we need our lives uncomplicated again."

Jarod smiled. "I appreciate your honesty, Andy. I hope I can make it back here sometime—_without_ Miss Parker on my tail."

"I hope you can, too. Now, tell me—" He drew up a chair and sat down, putting his elbows on his knees and staring intently at Jarod. _"Did_ you know about Otis?"

After staring at him a moment, Jarod let a smile break over his face. "So it worked."

"Me getting Miss Parker into jail just in time for Otis to come in and recognize her but be too drunk to tell her anything, ensuring that she _stays_ in jail? Yes, like clockwork. How did you do that?"

"I have a special talent for organizing things like that. Miss Parker has helped me develop it." His eyes became dark slits of ominous humor.

"Wa'al," Andy breathed, "remind me not to ever play chess against you."

"Chess? You play chess?"

"Just learned. You play?"

"I was allowed to play once, long ago. I haven't since then. Maybe I should take it up."

"Did Sydney teach you?"

"No. You'd think he would have. Why, did Sydney teach _you?"_

"He shore did. He said it helps you learn how the other fellow thinks, and it shore does. Maybe I should make all newcomers to town play with me."

"Did you learn how Sydney thinks?"

"Wa'al…some. He's not real obvious, like some folks. Keeps a lot hidden."

"He shore does," Jarod said darkly.

"I think I learned a few things, though. He's not a real competitive feller. I think he'd be just as happy to play against himself as another person—except then he wouldn't have someone to learn about. A real gentle sort of feller, but one who never gives up, just keeps coming at you, quiet-like. If he moved to my town, I'd think, _There's a nice feller to have in the community,_ but I think I might want to watch what sort of things he keeps in his basement. If he was my deputy, he'd be a real help in figuring people out and keeping track of little details, but I'd never know whether to trust him with arresting somebody. He'd might get so interested in talking to the feller he'd let him get away. Or else he'd do things to him to see what he does."

Jarod nodded slowly. "Sydney doesn't have a cruel bone in his body, but he has a blind, amoral streak a mile wide. Not precisely sociopathically amoral. More like traumatically amoral, like something has been battered until it has died, or can no longer afford to live. It has taken me a long time to be able to see that—but I'm still resentful and angry at him."

Andy nodded in turn. "That's normal with children and parents."

"He's not my father."

"No, but he raised you, didn't he? It's as close as you'll get to having memories of a father. And kids think their parents're perfect. Opie's still there. When they find out they're not, they can get very angry, especially if their parents did real bad things. That sticks with you, even when your brain gets more reasonable and understanding."

Jarod gave a painful chuckle. "Maybe you should have been the psychiatrist."

"Naw, I like my work. Knowing about people helps it." He could see how painful the subject was, so he changed it. "You know they think you're in New York?"

"New York?"

"On account of them newspapers you used to borrow from Helen."

His eyebrows went up. "Oh. Well, that could be useful."

"That's what I thought. Aunt Bee says Miss Parker had Sydney on the phone talking to someone about back issues of the newspaper and getting someone named Angelo to look at them. Is that some special investigator?"

"_Very_ special. Maybe he'll send them tearing off to New York. That would be funny. I wasn't going to New York; I was headed further south, with no real aim in mind. But maybe I should go there after all. I haven't seen the Empire State Building in a while."

"But _they'll_ be going there. I think you'd want to stay as far away as possible."

"You _would_ think so, wouldn't you?" Jarod grinned. "I always enjoy it when _I _get to be the tracker. It drives Miss Parker crazy."

"Ya know, I just don't get you. I sure like you, though. Wa'al, I better get goin' and see if Otis has spilled the beans yet."

Jarod looked at him quizzically. "Is this something Otis normally does on his Saturday mornings in jail?"

"What? Oh—spill the beans? Ain't you heard that before? It means talk—tell his story."

"Oh."

Andy left Jarod still looking perplexed.


	12. A Question of Baths

**A Question of Baths**

**Chapter 12**

"Oh, Andy," Aunt Bee said as he was about to go out the door, "I promised Miss Parker I'd take her to the hotel this morning."

"What for?"

"Oh, Andy, do I really have to come out and say it?" She lowered her voice and whispered, "For a _bath._ She's a woman, Andy. She has to get all freshened up and fix her hair."

"Oh, you _women,"_ Andy grinned. "That's alright, but I'll have to send Barney along with you."

"Oh, _Andy._ Not _Barney."_

"What's wrong with Barney?"

"Andy! In a _hotel_ room with a _lady_ while she's _bathing?"_

"He can stand outside the door. Do you want to go with me now?"

Aunt Bee rolled her eyes and accompanied him. They found Barney clearing up the remains of breakfast and Miss Parker glaring at Otis still snoring in his cell.

"Good mornin', Miss Parker!" Andy called. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did _not._ Between Thing One snoring in that cell and Thing Two snoring in the back room, I didn't sleep at all."

Barney glanced into the back room with a bewildered expression. "What thing?"

"Oh, shut up."

"Miss Parker," Aunt Bee said hastily, "would you like to come along with me to the hotel now?"

"To the hotel?" Barney exclaimed. "What for?"

"To have a bath," Andy answered. "It's one of those things women do."

"Well, I take baths, Andy."

"Oh, well, Barn, I'm sure everyone understands."

"Understands what, And?"

"How you like to smell pretty when you're on patrol. That's what Jud said to me the other day. 'That Barney, he sure do smell nice on account of them perfumed baths.'"

"I do _not_ take perfumed baths! Now, Andy, you just tell that Jud—" He jerked to a halt and took in Andy's broadly mischievous face, the twinkle Aunt Bee tried to hide, and the smirk on Miss Parker's face and threw up his hands. "Andy, I thought you woulda been bigger than to humiliate your deputy before a prisoner. Well, I guess not!" He stalked into the back room, then wheeled out and stuck his finger out at Miss Parker. "And _she_ snores, too!"

"Sorry, Barn," Andy chuckled. "I know you've had a long night of it, so why don't you go on home and get a little rest. I'll escort Miss Parker to the hotel, and you can come back when you're rested."

"Well—thanks, And. I will." He started for the door.

"Oh, Barn."

"Yes, Andy?"

"Don't forget your bath. A nice rose scent would suit you today."

Barney slammed the door behind him. Andy and Aunt Bee both laughed, and even Miss Parker could be seen to smile.

"Oh, Andy," his aunt said, "you always were such a naughty boy. Now, unlock the cell."

"Yes, Aunt Bee." He went to Otis' cell. "Hey, Otis. Otis! Wake up!"

Otis gave a snort. "G'way. S'my day to sleep."

"Just give me that key, Otis, and you can go right back to sleep."

Otis grumpily fished the key out from under his pillow and threw it at him. Andy had to fish through the bars to reach it, but he finally managed to unlock Miss Parker's cell, then hung the key back up in its place. Otis went back to snoring. Miss Parker shot another glance at him.

"Will he still be here until we get back?"

"Yes. He's got another twelve hours at least. He's right good comp'ny when he's awake and sober."

"He'd better be, or I'll put a bullet in his brain."

If Andy had wondered about the wisdom of walking Miss Parker across the street without a gun, he was reassured by the glance she cast Otis as they left, mixed loathing and longing. For some reason, Jarod had chosen not to share, she _needed_ to know any information an old drunk could give her about her long-dead mother. There was far more here than met the eye.

People stared as Andy and Aunt Bee walked to the hotel with beautiful, arrogant Miss Parker, nothing like any woman in Mayberry. In the hotel, they met Sydney and Broots just leaving.

"Oh, Miss Parker! We were about to come see you. Andy has promised to take me to meet the school teacher."

"Give me that." She snatched Sydney's room key from him before he could give it to the desk clerk. "I am going to go occupy your bathroom. You two get started on the New York Times. Syd, you get those copies. Broots, call the Centre and find out what Angelo has dug up."

"Yes, ma'am," Broots said.

Sydney gave Andy a questioning look. Andy turned to the desk clerk.

"John, would you give Helen Crump a call and see if she couldn't meet me here? I have a favor to ask her, but my duties are tying me up."

"Sure, Andy." He picked up his telephone. "Sarah? Get me Helen Crump, please."

"This way, Miss Parker."

Andy ushered Miss Parker upstairs, and at Aunt Bee's glare he took up his stand outside the hotel room door. A man passed him and gave him a curious look.

"You guarding someone, Sheriff?"

"One of the most dangerous prisoners of my career," Andy said pleasantly.

Aunt Bee popped her head out of the door, earning a very startled glance from the man. "Andy, when you go down to meet Helen, would you ask John for more towels?"

"You got it, Warden."

"Oh, _Andy."_

He smiled blandly at the staring man, who scuttled away down the stairs. Andy listened outside the door until he heard not only the sound of running water but the unmistakable noises of someone getting in the tub. Then he went downstairs, just in time to meet Helen.


	13. Teacher and Psychiatrist

**Teacher and Psychiatrist**

**Chapter 13**

The schoolteacher was a young woman, beautiful, dark-haired, dark-eyed, with intelligence in her expressive eyes and both decision and humor in her pronounced mouth. The way Andy smiled at her showed that their relationship was somewhat more than mere friendship.

"Howdy, Helen. Thank you for coming out here."

"I'm glad to, Andy. Nothing is wrong, is there?"

"No. I just wanted you to meet my new friend Sydney. He has a favor to ask of you."

Helen put out her hand with a ready smile, and Sydney took it.

"I'm pleased to meet you."

"As am I, Mr. Sydney."

"Please—just Sydney."

"Sydney, then. You're new to town?"

"Just passing through. One of my companions decided to take a detour into your town's very pleasant jail."

Helen looked puzzled. "Oh!"

"Sydney here's a friend of Jarod's, Helen," Andy put in.

"Are you really? How sad that you just missed him!"

"Sad…quite. That seems to be the way of it with us. Jarod's work takes him to so many different places we never quite knew where he's going to be. I can't say how many times we've just missed him."

"What a shame! But what can I do for you?"

"I understand you receive the New York Times, and I was wondering if I could look through your back issues."

"Oh, of course. Would you like to come to my house?"

"I would be honored, Miss Crump."

_"Helen."_ She hooked her hand through his arm. "Do you mind walking? It's not far."

"Not at all."

"Thanks, Helen," Andy said. "I'd better get back to my prisoner."

"Goodbye, Andy." As they left the hotel, Helen asked, "Why is Andy guarding a prisoner in the hotel?"

"My companion is a young woman who foolishly allowed herself to be arrested. Andy's kind Aunt Bee suggested she might enjoy a proper room to freshen up in."

"Oh, I see. Aunt Bee _is_ the sweetest woman. I wonder why she didn't just take her home, then."

"Take a prisoner home?"

"Oh, sure. The Taylors do all the time."

Sydney's brow wrinkled. "Well, I did notice that Andy has been keeping his son away since Miss Parker has been in his jail."

"Really? Opie usually has the run of the jail. That's very odd."

"Perhaps not so odd. If you saw Miss Parker, you would understand why a father would want to keep a little boy away from her." He said it neutrally, but he felt Helen give him a sharp glance and wondered if she could guess at his sadness about Miss Parker.

"So, how do you know Jarod, Sydney?"

"I met him when he was a very little boy. I was his…teacher."

A smile flashed across Helen's face. "How wonderful! You're a teacher, too."

"Actually, I'm a psychiatrist. Jarod's gifts were my special area of study. I helped him develop them."

"Oh, Sydney, what a wonderful job! To have the sole training of a single little genius! It's a teacher's dream."

"It should have been," he said absently. "Yes, it should have been."

Helen's hand tightened just a little on his arm. "But it wasn't?"

"In retrospect, no, though at the time I would have said yes. We pushed him too hard. We thought his genius meant he didn't need to be a normal little boy. Now he blames me—and rightly—for his lost childhood. Our techniques were…all wrong."

"That must be very difficult," Helen said with another sympathetic pressure on his arm. "To be so sure you are doing what is best for a child, and then to find out you were wrong. I started out that way, with Opie."

"Even that would be easier than to realize you really didn't care about what was best for the child, until it was too late." Why was he saying all this? He didn't even know this woman. He had never spoken these things to anyone, had scarcely even let himself think them. But in some way she could understand. She, too, was responsible for the intellectual development of a little boy.

"But you must have done _something_ right, Sydney. Jarod is one of the kindest, most compassionate and helpful men I have ever met. A child doesn't develop a character like that in a vacuum."

"Jarod is naturally compassionate. It is in his nature to be. I am not responsible for that."

Helen shook her head. "I think you're wrong. Of course, I am not a psychiatrist, and I don't know either of you very well, but I know that adult influences have a huge role in the development of a child's natural tendencies. The sweetest child _can_ be taught to be cruel."

Faces flashed into Sydney's mind. Kyle. Lyle. Parker. And in comparison, Jarod. Jarod had a strength none of them had—but even his strength could have been broken. But it wasn't.

"How did he look, when he was here?" he asked.

"Very well. Very healthy—very handsome," Helen smiled. "He had the eye of most of the girls in town. The men might have hated him for that, but they didn't. You couldn't help but like him. And he loved Mayberry. He thought everyone and everything in it was wonderful."

"He would." Sydney smiled back. "I wish I could have seen him here and enjoyed your town with him." He realized with sudden bleakness, _I have never, ever had a normal interaction with Jarod. We have never walked down a street together, sat down together over a meal, had a conversation which did not involve some dysfunction._ But then, neither of them had lives conducive to any kind of normality with _anyone._ This beautiful, peaceful town and its conventional lives were alien to them both.

"This is my house," Helen said and led him inside.


	14. Catherine Parker Comes to Town

**Catherine Parker Comes to Town**

**Chapter 14**

An hour later, Miss Parker, Broots, and Sydney all met back at the courthouse. Miss Parker was ceremoniously locked up again, and Aunt Bee returned home.

"Well?" Miss Parker hissed at Broots and Sydney.

Broots shrugged. "Angelo hasn't found anything in the Times. A few possibilities, but nothing that jumps out."

"Tell him to go over them again!"

"I did. He still has a few left to go, so maybe something'll come up."

"Syd?"

"Miss Crump let me take away all her Times from the last few weeks. I didn't have time to go through them all." He didn't tell her he had spent more time talking to Helen than reading newspapers.

"Well, at least we'll have something to do. Give me a newspaper. Wait!"

Otis had finally awakened with a snort.

"Wa'al, it's about time you woke up!" Andy said. "Your breakfast has been waitin' a good hour or more." He unlocked Otis' cell and brought in the tray Aunt Bee had left.

"That's alright," Otis mumbled, sitting up. "Aunt Bee's cooking's good hot or cold."

"You shore are right."

As he came out, Miss Parker put out a hand through the bars to his arm. "Sheriff, wait. Let me in there—please. I have to talk to him."

Andy stopped and gave her a searching look. "You promise not to threaten him?"

"Yes—yes, I do," she said impatiently, but with an effort at a conciliatory tone.

"Alright, then." He unlocked her door. "Otis, you got a visitor!"

"What?" Otis looked up from his grits and stared as Miss Parker came in and sat down in the chair opposite him, crossing her legs and looking hard at him. "Who—?" He grabbed his coffee and took a big drink, closing his eyes as if hoping she would be gone when he opened them. She wasn't. "Andy! You better get the doctor! I musta had something bad last night! I'm seeing dead people!"

"No, you ain't, Otis. Just listen to the lady."

"You don't remember seeing me last night?" Miss Parker demanded. "You came in and called me Catherine. My mother's name was Catherine. Catherine Parker."

"Catherine Parker?" he repeated slowly. "Your mother?"

"How did you know her, Otis?"

He shook his head, slow but stubborn. "Don't want to talk about it."

"You _have_ to, Otis! She was my _mother!_ She died when I was little, and I know very little about her. I'm trying to find out what she was doing before she died. _Please,_ Otis!" Her face had become astonishingly soft, the face of the child who needed to know the most important person in her life.

"You sure do look like her," Otis muttered.

"It was more than twenty years ago, but you remember her well."

"I should. She ruined my life." He pushed his food back and turned away.

_"What?"_

Even Andy was staring, obviously completely unaware of whatever episode in Otis' life he was talking about.

Miss Parker actually touched Otis' arm. "Otis, my mother died suddenly. She was murdered, and I'm finding out that it was because of the work she was doing. Life without her is a _blank,_ Otis. It's not what was supposed to be."

"She wrecked your life, too, huh?"

"Her absence has," Miss Parker muttered.

"Yeah, me, too."

"Otis, what _happened?_ How did you know her?"

Otis sighed. For a moment he was no longer a comic character but a vital part of a mystery, with his own role to play beyond coming in drunk every Friday night. "Years ago my wife and me wanted to have kids. And we never did. So we thought, OK, we'll adopt a baby. So we went to Raleigh and applied for adoption, and they said, no, you ain't got enough money. Enough money to keep our own kid, but not enough for some orphan nobody wants? Well, we were all cut up about it, and we went home and didn't tell nobody. Then this lady shows up. Beautiful lady, with this look in her eyes like the whole world depended on her. Catherine Parker. And she says, I heard you wanted to adopt a kid, and we says, Yeah. She had a kid in mind, but it was this special case. Not a baby but a seven-year old, and not a boy but a girl, and this girl had been kidnapped and had horrible things done to her, and she would have to have—" he paused and said it carefully "—psy-cho-therapy. And when she got older she would have to go to a special school because she was a genius, and Catherine would pay for all of it, because the important thing was to have her in a family that loved her and in a real nice town like Mayberry. And even with all that we said yes, we'd take her. And then Catherine said the thing was she was still kidnapped and had to be rescued, and it was dangerous, but she was going to do it. She came back to Mayberry a coupla times, always looking disappointed and saying she was trying. She showed us a picture of our little girl, our Annabel, a poor, mournful-looking, plain-looking little thing with real bright eyes. I can still see her as plain as day. And then one day Catherine just stopped coming, disappeared, and we couldn't find out anything about her, not that we had money to look, till one day somehow we found an obituary on her, said she was dead, and a year after she died we got a letter from her. It said, if we got this letter she was dead and her lawyers had orders to send the letter a year later. It said poor Annabel was dead, and they were on to Catherine, because she'd saved a bunch of kids from the kidnappers, and they found out and she was in danger. She was sorry she'd never come back, but she didn't want to put us in danger, too. And that was that. Well, we never talked about it no more, but we've both thought about our Annabel every day. We'd been thinking of her as _our_ kid for months, and we couldn't just leave off. That was when the wife started getting all angry and mean and I started drinking."

"Oh, Otis," Andy said softly. "Nobody ever knew. We woulda helped you."

"Nobody was supposed to know! That's what Catherine said. Though we couldn't decide whether it was all real or she was some crazy lady out getting people riled up over nothing."

"It was real," Miss Parker said. "She rescued seven children, and then she was murdered the day before she was going to rescue three more. I don't know anything about your Annabel, but you can be assured she existed. Maybe she was killed, too. They're like that."

"Who are?"

"The kidnappers." She looked at Sydney for a moment. _My kidnappers. She wanted to rescue three children: Jarod, Angelo…and me. From my father._ She looked back at Otis. "I'm sorry you never got your Annabel. I'm sure she would have loved it here. I'm sure you would have been good parents."

"We woulda tried," Otis said quietly.


	15. Barking Up The Wrong Tree

**Barking Up The Wrong Tree**

**Chapter 15**

It was quiet in the courthouse for quite some time. Sydney and Broots buried themselves in the newspaper, and Miss Parker took a paper into her cell, but Andy noticed the pages turned very slowly, if at all. Otis had lain down again, pretending to nap, his hat over his face. Andy pretended to be busy with paperwork, though really he was thinking about how much he hadn't known about Otis and his wife and how much Miss Parker changed when she was talking about her mother. It made him wonder if Opie missed having a mother that much, or if having a good, loving, involved father and a nurturing great-aunt was enough.

Just on cue, the nurturing great-aunt entered with lunch, just in time to hear Sydney say, "I'm not finding anything in these newspapers" and Miss Parker swear at him. Aunt Bee looked shocked and Broots embarrassed, but Sydney didn't turn a hair.

"Lunchtime!" Aunt Bee said uncertainly. "Otis, don't you want some lunch? Why, you didn't finish your breakfast!"

"Wasn't hungry," Otis mumbled.

"Are you hungry now?"

_"Yes."_

"Well, I've got a nice, hot casserole here. You eat up. You too, Miss Parker. You're far too thin!"

Miss Parker snorted, but she accepted a heaping plate with a quiet, "Thank you."

"Hey, Aunt Bee, how's that sick friend of Opie's?"

"Sick friend of—oh! He's much better, Andy. You know how those boys are. Constitution of an ox!"

Andy's eyes twinkled at her, and hers twinkled back. "That's good. That's real good. I'll bring your basket back later. Oh, and I got something to ask Opie, so keep him in the neighborhood, will you?"

"Sure, Andy." She cast a worried look at Miss Parker and trotted away.

Everyone was silent as they ate, other than occasional comments on the food, but when Otis handed back his plate to Andy, he glanced in Miss Parker's direction through the cell bars.

"You sure look like your ma, but you ain't much like her, are you?"

"No, I'm not," Miss Parker snapped, but there was that in her expression that said she might wish she were.

"You're more like her than you think, Miss Parker," Sydney said.

Miss Parker gave him a look too complicated for Andy to read—contempt? longing? pain hidden behind arrogance? gratitude? all of the above? –and retreated behind her newspaper again. Then—

"Syd! Look at this!" She showed him a tiny article in her paper.

"'Empire State Building Worker Killed By Fall From Tower,'" Sydney read. "'Police suspect foul play. He leaves behind a wife and two children.'"

"Hey!" Broots said. "That sounds exactly like something Jarod would go for."

"And it's actually_ in_ the Empire State Building," Sydney agreed.

"Broots, get on the phone and find out what Angelo thinks of this one. I have a gut feeling it's the one we're looking for."

Andy kept his face straight by a valiant effort of the will as he offered his telephone to Broots. "What's so important about the Empire State Building?"

They all turned to look at him, then cast each other glances.

"It's Jarod's favorite building," Sydney answered carefully. "He built an exact replica of it from photographs when he was four years old."

"That's impressive, isn't it? Opie's little buildings he made from building blocks when he was four were crude little things."

"Yes, it is impressive. It is what made me comprehend the extent of his intelligence."

Barney rushed in while Broots was still on the phone. "Hey, And! Hope I'm not too late for some of Aunt Bee's cooking!"

"No, Barn, there's a little left for you. Did you get a good rest?"

"Sure did. Slept like the dead." He chuckled as if he'd just coined a very clever phrase. "Like the dead, get it?"

"Yeah, I got it, Barn. You was all restless and sleepwalkin'."

"Sleepwalking?"

"You know, like ghosts and so forth. Them's dead."

"No, Andy! If you say you slept like the dead, you mean you slept like you were dead!"

"Well, you better not tell Thelma Lou that. She might get worried about you."

"No, she won't because she knows common, everyday phrases! What's _wrong_ with you, Andy?"

"Nothin'," Andy grinned. "Eat up, and I'm goin' to return Aunt Bee's basket to her and go out on patrol. You keep a close eye on the prisoners and _don't_ let them have the key! Well, Otis can have it, but not Miss Parker." He cast her a grin and received a glare in return, but he thought there was a distinct glint of humor in her eyes. _If we let this young lady hang around here very long, she'll become a real human being, a real nice person._ "Oh, and Barn, remember this evening I'm taking that package to Mount Pilot."

"Package? What package?"

"You know, that one we found by the road the other day, the one dropped there by accident that we picked up and promised to get there? I put it in my room to get it out of the way. Big package."

"_Ohh, that_ package. Well, why didn't you say so? Don't you worry about a thing. We'll be alright here."

"Thanks, Barney. See you later."

"See ya, And."

Andy took the basket and drove the squad car home. Dropping off the basket with Aunt Bee, he went upstairs to where Jarod was sitting on his bed with a book.

"Good to see you so much better. Aunt Bee says you have the constitution of an ox."

"Well, I've never heard it put that way, but she's probably right. She's making me stay upstairs, through, in case anyone comes over."

"Good idea. Whatcha reading?"

Jarod showed him the cover. "Book Opie lent me. It's very good. A boy named Eddie goes to a ranch for a visit and comes home with a goat and some snakes."

Andy laughed. "Ope loves those books. Anything to do with horses and cowboys. I guess you didn't read much kids' books when you were growing up?"

Jarod's eyes darkened a little. "None at all. The first children's book I read was 'Curious George,' a year or two ago."

"Aw, that's a good one. Listen, Jarod, I just thought you oughta know: they're investigatin' a death in New York they think you're interested in. Something about the Empire State Building."

Jarod cracked a grin. "Are they. That's very funny."

"I didn't tell 'em they were barking up the wrong tree, o'course."

"Barking—?"

"Barking? Oh—um, running after the wrong clue. Like a hound dog chasing some squirrel up a tree and sittin' barking at one tree when it's in the next one over."

"Oh. How very descriptive. Barking up the wrong tree. Well, they are, but they're not."

"How do you mean?"

"The squirrel has been and gone. I _did_ investigate that death, by phone, last week, and I sent an anonymous tip to the New York police, and they solved it. It should be in the papers by Monday."

Andy shook his head with a laugh. "I never saw the beat of you! Wa'al, I better git going. I'm coming back at four this afternoon to take you to Mount Pilot to catch the bus. You ready for a trip?"

"Yes, I am. Thank you, Andy."

"Welcome. See ya."

Downstairs, Opie met him in the living room. "Didja want to see me, Paw?"

"I sure did, Ope. I got a mission for you. You know what a diversion is?"

"Sure, Paw. When you make a big ruckus so's people don't pay any attention to what's really goin' on."

"Right. Now, I need you to make me a diversion at four o'clock this afternoon. I have to get Jarod out the back door and into the squad car without anyone knowin' he was ever here. At four o'clock exactly. You got that?"

Opie was all smiles. "Oh, sure, Paw! That'll be easy."

"Right, but nobody can know what it's about."

"Don't worry, Paw. I'll take care of it."

"I know you will! Plan carefully, and I'll see you later."

"Bye, Paw."

He left Opie almost jumping up and down with excitement and went out on patrol.


	16. Operation Billy Goat

**Operation Billy Goat**

**Chapter 16**

At about 3:45 that afternoon, Andy backed the squad car up to the back door and began ostentatiously clearing rubbish out of the trunk. Aunt Bee came out to watch.

"I do declare, Andy!" she said, her clear voice carrying very well on the light breeze, "you and Barney manage to get this car all full of I don't know what! What _is_ in there?"

"Oh, I don't know, Aunt Bee. Some fishin' stuff and some police stuff—and I think here's them dish towels you bought last week."

"Andy! I wondered where those had got to! For shame!"

"Wa'al, at least now I can get that package out from underfoot and in Mount Pilot where it belongs."

"Yes, you come right inside and get it out of my kitchen!"

Andy went inside. Jarod was waiting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee. "You 'bout ready, Jarod?"

"'Bout."

"Oh, Jarod, I'm going to miss you." Aunt Bee's eyes were full of tears. She reached out and hugged him. Andy turned away a little uncomfortably when he saw tears in Jarod's eyes, too.

"I don't know how I could ever repay your kindness," the tall, dark man said.

"Oh, nonsense. You don't repay family. Now, listen, you better come back and visit us!"

Thinking it was all getting decidedly too emotional, Andy picked up the decoy package—actually Jarod's silver briefcase wrapped in brown paper—and took it out to the squad car. As he shut the front door, he heard the excited voices of little boys and the sound of many running feet.

"C'mon! head him off!" he heard Opie shout.

"Catch 'im! He's gettin' away!" other boys cried.

Front windows and doors of the neighbors' houses flew open as a band of little boys came into view chasing a goat—or being chased by one. It was Farmer Gault's mean billy goat, well known for its propensity to escape and wreak havoc on people's gardens. Andy grinned and ran into the house.

"It's time! Come on!"

"Wait." Jarod pulled one of his PEZ dispensers from his jacket pocket and set it on the table. It was a cowboy. "For Opie."

"He'll like that. Now come on!"

Jarod smiled at Aunt Bee and slipped out of the house, slid into the back seat of the squad car, lay down on the floor, and covered himself with the lap blanket. Andy got into the front.

"Oh, Andy!" Aunt Bee came hurrying out of the house with a paper bag. "Don't forget your dinner!" She handed it in through the window. "For _him,"_ she hissed. "For tomorrow."

"Thanks, Aunt Bee." He pulled out onto the street and shouted out the window at the boys, "What's goin' on?"

"We're just tryin' to catch Farmer Gault's goat, Paw!" Opie called back.

"Wa'al, better get him caught, then! You're disturbing the peace! See ya, Ope!" He cast him a wink.

Opie gave one of his whole-faced winks back. "See ya, Paw!"

A good five miles out of Mayberry, Andy pulled over and let Jarod get into the front seat. "Mission accomplished," he grinned. "Operation Billy Goat has been successful."

"That was a clever idea, using the goat," Jarod laughed.

"Opie's idea."

"He's a smart boy. If he chooses to go into law enforcement someday, I think he'll be good at it."

"I think so myself. He shore likes learning the business. But fer now I don't think he can decide between policeman, cowboy, and soda jerk."

Jarod laughed again. "A good range of options. There's no reason why he couldn't be all of them."

"Well, sure. He can be the policeman who keeps the chuck wagons supplied with ice cream sodas."

"It sounds like an ideal job. I do like ice cream sodas."

"I never did see a man eat more of them'n you."

"I'm making up for lost time."

"Speakin' of which, here." He gave Jarod the paper bag. "Aunt Bee sent you along a bite to eat."

Jarod hefted it in his hand. "A _bite?_ Feels like a banquet."

"Well, knowing her, along with sandwiches, cookies, pie, and apples, there's probably a little thermos of her chicken soup in there. You should eat that tonight. It's strengthening. Hope you can get some rest on the bus to New York—you still plannin' on going there?"

"Yes. I can find work there easily enough. I'll send Ope a postcard."

"Wa'al, if you're sure. I'd hate to have been hiding you away in my house just to have Miss Parker find you in the big city. Speakin' of Miss Parker, how _did_ you know about Otis and her mother? How'd you make him tell you? He's never told _me_ after all these years."

Jarod stared at him. "I didn't make Otis tell me. I talked to his wife."

"_Ohh."_

"I actually came to Mayberry in search of them. I was tracking down children Catherine Parker rescued from the Centre, and I came to find the Campbells. It was only then that I found out about your local problems and decided to help."

"I see. Why were you tracking down Mrs. Parker? And did you have me lock up Miss Parker next to Otis to keep her out of the way or so's she could find out about her mother?"

Jarod moved a little restlessly. "Both. I'm looking for my past, and along the way I'm looking for Miss Parker's. They're related, in a way. And she was once my…friend. She's had a lot stolen from her by the Centre, too."

"I noticed."

When they arrived in Mount Pilot, Andy drove to the bus station, where they had time to purchase a sandwich and a cup of coffee before the bus came in. Jarod bought his ticket, and Andy handed out his silver case, his duffle bag, and his food from Aunt Bee.

Jarod opened his mouth, and Andy held up his hand. "No more sorrys or thank yous. Just two friends sayin' goodbye. It sure has been nice having you around."

"It's been nice being around," Jarod said softly. He held out his hand, and Andy took it.

"So long, Jarod. See ya the next time you're in town."

"So long, Andy."

He took his things and got on the bus. Andy watched until the bus was out of sight and then drove back to Mayberry.

On the bus, Jarod pulled the small thermos of soup out of the paper bag and opened his duffle bag to put the rest of the lunch inside for tomorrow. His hand hit a hard, unfamiliar object, and he pulled it out. It was a book, with a piece of paper sticking out of it. In untidy, schoolboy hand, the paper read, "Dear Jared, I thot youd like to keep this book cuz you liked it so much. Opie."

With a grin and a tightness around his chest, Jarod put his duffle bag up on the rack and sat down with his soup and his book to enjoy again the story of the boy and his goat.


	17. Miss Parker Goes To Church

**Miss Parker Goes To Church**

**Chapter 17**

"I am _not_ going to church!" Miss Parker stormed.

"Sure you are, Miss Parker. Barney and I don't want to miss the pastor's sermon to stay here and babysit you, and we cain't leave a prisoner here alone. You look right pretty and presentable, so no need to worry on that account. Now, come on."

"No." She sat down and crossed her arms.

"Miss Parker! You stop actin' like a baby! Now, get in that car!"

Caught by the unusual sharpness in Andy's tone (maybe he was tired after a night spent on the cot in the back room with one eye open?), Broots and Sydney stared at him. Then they turned and stared at Miss Parker as she slowly got up, walked out of her cell, and got in the back of the squad car, sitting very stiff with crossed arms. Andy got in front next to Opie and Aunt Bee, and Broots and Sydney crowded into the back seat with Miss Parker. She leaned down and whispered in Broots' ear.

"If you _ever_ hint a word of this to _anyone,_ I will make sure that—" Here she lowered her voice still further and hissed something that made him gulp.

"Hint a word of what, Miss Parker?" he squeaked. "I don't know anything I would want to tell anyone."

"You'd better not." She glared over at Sydney, but he was staring out of the window, one hand at his chin, hiding, no doubt, his amused smirk. He was like that. It was where Jarod had got it, except Jarod didn't bother to hide _his_ smirks. Oh, she wanted to slap him—better, to shoot him—when he smirked at her like that. What business had a lab rat to be smirking at a Parker?

Opie had turned around in the front seat and was staring at her. Little brat with red hair. She glared at him.

"What are you looking at?"

"You. Gosh, you're pretty. Want one?" He held out a bright PEZ dispenser with a cowboy hat on top.

Miss Parker snatched it from him. "Where did you get that?"

"Jarod left it for me when he left. Sure was nice."

"Opie, did you bring that candy along?" his father asked. "You know you ain't allowed candy at church." He put his arm back over the seat and opened his large hand to Miss Parker. "Hand it over." Reluctantly she put it in his hand. "You can have it back after church, Ope. Now, you kids behave yourself in church, you hear?"

Sydney's shoulder seemed to be quivering. Opie made a face at Miss Parker, and she scowled back. On second thought, maybe she liked the kid.

Church was a white building with a steeple on top, conventional small-town church, not that Miss Parker had been to any. She was a little more used to Catholic mass, though she hadn't been in years. People were milling around talking to each other. They greeted Andy heartily and gave her, Sydney, and Broots stares, though not unfriendly ones.

"Why, Sydney!" a dark-haired young woman exclaimed. "Are you still in town?"

"I am indeed. Let me introduce you to my colleagues, Miss Parker and Broots. This is Helen Crump, who was so kind as to loan us her newspapers."

"How do you do, Miss Crump?" Miss Parker said with one of her warmest, most insincere smiles. "Thank you _so_ much for the papers. I might have gone mad with boredom without them."

"You're welcome," Helen answered, just as warmly and far more sincerely. "Andy runs a nice jail, but I'm sure it must still be rather dull. It's nice that he let you come to church."

"Oh, yes. _Very _nice. He knows how grateful I am."

"I shore do," Andy said with a raised eyebrow. "Now, why don't y'all come have a seat. It's about to start."

Broots and Sydney both enjoyed the service far more than they had a right to. When everyone got up to sing from the hymnbook, they both sang along, Broots revealing more enthusiasm than tone and Sydney a surprisingly pleasant and harmonious voice. He tried to share his hymnbook with her, but she only gave him one of her withering stares. On her other side, Opie was just as enthusiastic and disharmonious as Broots, and Andy's voice was astonishingly good, though she'd already known that.

Then the pastor got up to speak, and she prepared herself to be bored and possibly disgusted. But she wasn't. Oh, he wasn't that great of a speaker, but he might as well have been sitting inside the jail next to Otis the day before, listening to their conversation on purpose to write a sermon about it.

He talked about children. He talked about how they were small and weak and easily abused and led astray and how many rebuked children for being who they were. Then he read a passage she had never heard before. It went, "And they were bringing little children to him that he might touch them, and the disciples rebuked them. But when Jesus saw it, he was indignant and said to them, 'Let the children come to me; do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Truly I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.' And he took some of them in his arms and blessed them, laying his hands on them."*

This, the pastor said, showed Jesus' attitude toward children, and his followers ought to follow his example. Jesus even reserved some of his strongest words for people who did wrong by children: "Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me, but whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to stumble, it would be better for him to have a large millstone fastened around his neck and to be drowned in the depth of the sea."^

_And which am I?_ Miss Parker wondered bleakly. _One of the innocent little ones, or one of the monsters to be drowned in the sea? Can you be both?_

It was clear Broots and Sydney were both thinking along the same lines as they left the church. Sydney had his blandest expression on, the one that said he was hiding, and Broots was nervous, whispering, "Guess we better watch out for those millstones at the Centre, huh? There's a nice sea handy."

Miss Parker ignored him and waited without a word for Andy and Aunt Bee to stop talking to people so she could go back to jail.

* * *

*The Gospel According to Mark 10:13-16  
^The Gospel According to Matthew 18:5-6


	18. En Famille

**En Famille**

**Chapter 18**

"Helen, you want to come over for Sunday dinner?" Andy called. "Barney and Thelma Lou're comin'."

"Why, yes, Andy, I'd like that. You know what a terrible cook I am."

Andy chuckled. "See you there, then. Sorry I cain't give you a ride, but I've got a carful."

"That's alright. I'll walk with Barney and Thelma Lou."

"Alright, everyone, get in, and we'll be off."

When Andy pulled up in front of a neat white house instead of the jail, Miss Parker protested, "Wait a minute! This isn't the jail."

"Sunday dinner, Miss Parker! You cain't eat it in jail." He opened the car door for her with a smile. "Just you wait until you see what Aunt Bee has for us!"

Inside, Sydney looked around Andy's house curiously. Neat as a pin, it was an unmistakably masculine house with unmistakably feminine accents. The biggest feature was a large stone fireplace lovingly handmade by someone—maybe by Andy himself. A table was set with dishes, and the delicious smell of a roast filled the air.

Aunt Bee was bustling into an apron. "Andy, you better add another leaf to the table!"

"Alright, Aunt Bee. Opie, give me a hand. Now, you three just sit down and relax! Ope, grab some extra silverware."

In a few minutes, Helen and Barney came in talking and laughing with another young woman, not so pretty as Helen but fair and sweet-faced.

"Oh, hi, you'uns!" Andy called. "Thelma Lou, you met Jarod's friends yet?"

"Jarod's friends? Why, no, I haven't."

"Well, this is Miss Parker and Sydney and Broots. Y'all, this is Thelma Lou."

"That's my girl," Barney chuckled.

Sydney and Miss Parker exchanged glances, perhaps wondering what such a sensible-looking woman saw in Barney. They both greeted her civilly.

"How do you know Jarod?" she inquired.

"We—ah—worked together," Sydney answered.

Miss Parker barely restrained a snort and Broots a grin.

"That must have been nice. What a wonderful man. It was sad he had to leave so soon."

"_Very_ sad," Miss Parker said with a tight smile. "We _hate_ it that we missed him."

"And what do you do, Miss Parker?"

"I…work security for a corporation."

Thelma Lou's eyes went wide. _"Really?_ That sounds so exciting! Did Jarod do security with you?"

"Not exactly. He was in…planning and development."

Could anything be more vague? It was vague to Thelma Lou, as was her nod. "Oh. And did you two do security?"

Broots shrugged. "Sort of. I do the technical side of things."

"And I'm a psychiatrist," Sydney added. "I sometimes consult with security."

"That's so _interesting._ I didn't know big companies kept psychiatrists for consulting."

"Neither did I." Helen's dark eyes were puzzled on Sydney. "That is unusual, isn't it?"

"Our company is unusual," Miss Parker answered for him, somewhat coldly.

"What _does_ your company do?"

"A little of this and a little of that. A little of everything."

"Mostly consulting," Sydney said. Consulting also was usefully vague. People always nodded wisely without actually being any the wiser.

Helen, however, did not seem ready to take a smooth answer. Her mouth was just opening for another question when Aunt Bee called, "Dinnertime!"

There seemed to be no set places at the dinner table; everyone took what was nearest, though Andy sat at one end and Aunt Bee at the other. There was uncomfortable silence (on Miss Parker, Sydney, and Broots' part) as Andy said a short grace, and then food was passed around. Roast beef so tender it fell apart, potatoes, carrots, and onions cooked in the roasting juices, peas, corn, fat, fluffy rolls… Sydney ate in appreciative silence, while Broots joined his exclamations of delight with the others' and Miss Parker ate more than was her wont, though not enough for Aunt Bee. Conversation roamed around the small-town doings of Mayberry, with Opie chipping in his share of bright, boyish remarks. At the end, Aunt Bee brought out peach cobbler, and there were no sounds but forks scraping plates and sighs of contentment.

"Oh, Aunt Bee, that was the most wonderful meal I've had in a long time," Helen smiled. "It might almost be worth learning how to cook, if it would end up like that."

"I could teach you, Helen."

"Oh, no. It _wouldn't_ end up like that. I know from experience. I'm hopeless."

"But you sure are a good teacher!" Opie said.

"Thank you, Opie. Though that's not what you thought at first, was it?"

Opie went a little red, but he grinned. "Aw, I was just a kid back then. I'm grown now and helping Paw with his cases, aren't I?"

For some reason, Andy looked slightly uncomfortable. "Wa'al—uh—yeah. That's right. Sydney, did you have all you wanted? Would you like more cobbler?"

"No, thank you. This has been delightful, Andy. It is many years since I have dined _en famille."_

"'On famiya'? What's that?" Barney asked. "I don't think you're goin' to get any of that around here."

Sydney chuckled. "It means 'at home,' or 'with family.'"

"Oh. Spanish. I don't speak Spanish. I'm pretty good with French. Parlay voos fransay." He chuckled. "Yep. Me and French. We're old pals."

"That _was_ French," Miss Parker said. "Sydney is Belgian."

Thelma Lou, perhaps to cover for Barney's gaffe, said sympathetically, "You don't have family, Sydney?"

"No." It was all he said, but it was clear he wasn't going to say any more.

"Well!" Aunt Bee said, "I'll just get some of these dishes out of the way."

"Let me help, Aunt Bee," Thelma Lou offered, picking up her plate and Barney's.

"Oh, no—"

"Yes, let us," Helen urged. "Dishes is something I _can_ do, and it'll go much faster."

They began helping Aunt Bee clear the dishes. A slight glance Helen gave Miss Parker seemed to indicate an expectation that she would help as well, but Miss Parker sat right where she was. Sydney could almost see her wanting to say, "I'm a prisoner, not a guest!"


	19. Sunday Afternoon In Mayberry

**Sunday Afternoon In Mayberry**

**Chapter 19**

Miss Parker couldn't quite believe the way these people spent a Sunday afternoon. They _sang_ together.

Andy got out his guitar and perched on the edge of the sofa to play. Opie stood near him and sang very loudly with a big grin, while the others sat nearby and contrived several parts in harmony. It was all old folk songs, mostly, tunes she had never heard of with words she would not have sung if she had, all about fishing and agriculture and country dances. Broots loved it, of course. He had that kind of low-brow taste. He bopped along with it, snapping his fingers and singing when he knew the words, or could guess at them. And Sydney enjoyed it too, of course, as if it had all been organized for his own analytical benefit. Miss Parker wanted to shake him and say, _"What is it about you and _people?_ How can you like people so much and still see them as specimens?"_ He might as well have been looking into a Petri dish.

She, of course, didn't like people at all and _certainly_ didn't care anything about the dumb things they chose to waste their time with on a Sunday afternoon. But _she_ should be chasing Jarod and not sitting trapped in this house! Since Andy had let Otis go yesterday evening, the stout little man scuttling away like she had the plague, her restlessness and sensation of claustrophobia had been building up. Jarod would be gone from New York by the time they got there, and she would be left with another red notebook to mark another failure. If she had to deal with Mr. Raines shoving her failures in her face anymore, she was seriously going to go postal.

"You look a bit uptight, Miss Parker," Andy said. "Why don't you relax a little?"

She opened her mouth to snarl something very rude at him when she caught Opie's eyes on her, very frank, slightly accusatory, and she heard the pastor's words in her mind again, heard them in her mother's voice: "Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to stumble, it would be better for him to have a large millstone fastened around his neck and to be drowned in the depth of the sea." Her words choked inside her, and she contented herself with a withering glare at the sheriff. He only smiled back and began to play something soft, which Helen and Thelma Lou sang along to. Something about green pastures, cool waters, soft evenings, and being led like a sheep, which was rather pathetic but which the song's gentle but haunting harmonies made sound rather attractive, soothing even.* She hardly noticed when Aunt Bee beckoned Opie out onto the porch, nor when Barney sidled after them, though there _was_ a relief that he would stop profaning the music with his voice.

The song over, Helen asked with a sparkle in her eyes, "Does this mean what I think it means, Andy?"

"It shore does! Aunt Bee's homemade ice cream."

"Oh boy!" Broots exclaimed.

"Oh boy," Miss Parker mocked him, to make up for having liked the music enough to care if Barney profaned it.

"Y'all can go out and watch if you want," Andy invited. Broots immediately took him up on his offer. "Guess I better go lend a hand to the crank. Makin' ice cream's quite a job."

_"Please_ can I go back to jail?" Miss Parker groaned as he went out with his broad grin. "All this home life is going to kill me."

Sydney smiled at her. "There are worse ways to be killed, Miss Parker."

"I know, and when I find Jarod, he's going to experience them all."

Helen and Thelma Lou were staring at her with wide eyes. Helen was the first to recover. "Miss Parker, would you like to come out with us and watch?"

"Oh, believe me, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to watch grown men sweating into frozen milk. But no. You go right on with out me."

With uncertain expressions, they did.

Sydney said, "You really ought to make more of an effort to get along with these people, Parker. They have been very kind to us."

"Oh, shut up, Syd."

She mostly said it out of habit, without her usual harshness, and when Sydney got up to go join the fun outside and paused for just a second to touch a hand to her shoulder, she didn't jerk away. With some tiny, unacknowledged part of her soul, she wished he would put his arms around her and hold her the way no one had ever done since her mother had been murdered. But of course he didn't, not that she would have allowed him to. He went outside, and she was left alone in the house.

* * *

_*His Sheep Am I_

In God's green pastures feeding, by his cool waters lie,

Soft in the evening walk my Lord and I.

On the mount, in the valley, by his hand he will lead.

His sheep am I.

Waters cool, in the valley

Pastures green, on the mountain.

In the eve, in the evening walk my Lord and I.

Dark the night, in the valley

Rough the way, on the mountain.

Step-by-step, step-by-step, my Lord and I.

Yes, the Lord is my shepherd, and no want shall I know.

He'll guide and comfort me where e'er I go.

On the mount, in the valley, by his hand he will lead.

His sheep am I.

Waters cool, in the valley

Pastures green, on the mountain.

In the eve, in the evening walk my Lord and I.

Dark the night, in the valley

Rough the way, on the mountain.

Step-by-step, step-by-step, my Lord and I.


	20. Miss Parker Leaves Town

**Miss Parker Leaves Town**

**Chapter 20**

Aunt Bee's homemade strawberry ice cream was just about worth dying for. Everyone agreed on that. Andy noticed that Miss Parker steadily worked her way through a bowlful and did not refuse the seconds he offered her. He sure wished he could put a smile on her face, a real smile. Maybe he'd just have to settle for the brief—very brief—serenity that had appeared on her features when he played that beautiful old hymn, His Sheep Am I.

"Wa'al, folks," he said when the ice cream was completely gone, down to Opie tipping up the bucket to get the last melted drops, "I'm sorry to break up this party, but I've got to get these folks back where they belong."

"That's alright, Andy," Helen smiled. "It's been lovely, hasn't it, Thelma Lou?"

"It sure has. Thank you, Andy, Aunt Bee. Barney, would you walk me home?"

"Well—" He glanced at Andy.

"Go 'long, Barney. I'll take care of our guests."

"Thanks, And. Thanks, Aunt Bee. It sure was great!"

"You're welcome, Barney!"

"Andy, walk me to the end of your driveway."

"Oh, sure, Helen. Glad to."

He tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, and they walked slowly down the short driveway.

"What is it, Helen? You look worried."

"It's these 'guests' of yours, Andy. There's something very strange about them. Between their vague explanations of their jobs, the way Miss Parker talks about Jarod, and the way Sydney worries that he's ruined Jarod's life, there seems to be something not quite right about them. What are they here for? And why is Miss Parker in jail?"

"Speeding," Andy said. When Helen gave him a startled look, he added, "And pullin' a gun on an officer and resistin' arrest."

"A _gun?_ Andy—!"

"Now, don't you worry about it, Helen. There _is_ something strange about them, and I know all about it, and I'll tell you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? But, Andy—"

"Tomorrow, Helen. You're just going to have to trust me."

"I do trust you, Andy."

"I know." He bent and kissed her cheek gently. "See ya, Helen."

"Bye, Andy."

Andy returned to the house. "Well, now, folks, let's get back to the station."

Sydney turned to Aunt Bee. "Thank you for your hospitality. It has been delightful."

"You're welcome," she smiled at him. "I'm always happy to feed Andy's friends."

"Bye!" Opie called as they got in the squad car. Broots waved at him.

"You sure have a nice son, Andy," he said.

"Why, thanks, Broots! I think he's nice myself."

At the jail house, Miss Parker went quietly toward her cell, just as obedient as Otis on a Friday night, Andy noticed with an internal grin.

"Where ya goin', Miss Parker?"

"Well, I—" She gestured toward the cell.

"Doncha want to get out of her? Far as I remember, you want to catch up with Jarod whiles he's still in New York City."

She wheeled on him. "_Yes,_ I want to get out of here, but I thought—"

"Wa'al, you've been so well behaved I've decided to commute the rest of your sentence. Matter of fact, I filled out the paperwork this mornin' before church. You coulda signed it then and been gone, but Aunt Bee woulda killed me if'n I hadn't had you over for Sunday dinner."

"Oh, you _have_ been taking lessons from Jarod, haven't you?" Miss Parker said between her teeth.

"Now, what kind of people would you think us if we hadn't shown you a little down home hospitality?" His eyes met Sydney's, and he saw that the psychiatrist was heroically keeping back a grin just as mischievous as his own. "If you'll sign this paperwork, I'll give you back your gun, and you can be on your way."

With a glare that could kill a full-grown man at a dozen paces, Miss Parker snatched up the pen and signed the paperwork with an angry, illegible scrawl. The only bits he could make out for sure were the P and K of Parker. So much for learning her first name. Andy took her gun out of his desk drawer.

"Here's your gun. Sure is a beauty."

She took it and tucked it where he had first found it, in her back waistband.

"I had John at the hotel sign you out and put all your luggage in your car, and Gomer down to the fillin' station topped up your gas and oil, so you're all ready for the trip. It's a good dozen hours to New York City from Mayberry. Oh, and Aunt Bee made y'all a nice supper to take along."

Miss Parker stared at him with her mouth half open. "_Why_ would you do that?"

"I bin takin' lessons form Jarod," he said innocently. "Really, we only did what the Good Book says, givin' the hungry food and the thirsty drink, welcomin' the strangers, takin' care of the sick, and visitin' those in prison."

Still staring, Miss Parker murmured, "We weren't sick."

"Oh. Musta bin someone else."

She drew herself up. "Andy Taylor, next to Jarod you are the most infuriating, know-it-all, _annoying_ man I have ever met. You are also the kindest. My mother would have liked you." Before he could answer, she wheeled on her heel and marched out, snarling at Sydney and Broots, _"Come on!"_

Broots gave Andy a grin and hurried after her. Sydney paused to give Andy his hand and thanks and followed. Andy sauntered outside and leaned against the doorpost.

"No speedin' now!" he called as Miss Parker slammed her car door. "Y'all come back, now, y'hear?"

"Don't count on it," she said through her open window and pulled away with a squeal of tires.

Down the street, Otis was walking along, going to and from who knew where. As the big, black car sped past him, he raised his hand in a wave. Did he have _flowers_ in his other hand? Was it possible he was taking them to his wife? Wa'al, if that didn't beat all! Andy grinned to himself, locked up the jail, and went home. Tomorrow he'd have to buy himself a chess set. Maybe Helen would like to learn to play.


	21. Barking Up The Right Tree

**Barking Up The Right Tree  
**

**Chapter 21**

"I don't believe it! After all that, no one in the _entire_ Empire State Building has _ever_ heard of Jarod?" Miss Parker pounded the elevator button.

"It doesn't look like he had anything to do with investigating the death of that man," Sydney answered. "Do you think he didn't go to New York at all?"

"I am going to kill Angelo when we get back to the Centre."

"Parker, Angelo didn't mislead us. His responses to the New York Times articles were quite weak. _We_ assumed Jarod would come here."

"So I guess he's disappeared again," Broots said.

Sydney forestalled Miss Parker's snarl with a soothing, "He always reappears again. Don't worry."

Miss Parker seethed all the way back down to the car. The sight of a youth of about fifteen leaning negligently against the car gave her vent for her wrath.

"_What_ are you doing? Get away from my car, or I'll shoot you!"

For some reason the threat didn't faze the boy. He grinned. "Are you Miss Parker?"

"Yes!"

"Mr. Ardilla said to give you this." He handed her a manila envelope.

"Mr. _Ardilla?_ Who is that? Jarod?"

"Yeah, that was his first name."

"Ardilla? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's Spanish, Miss Parker," Sydney answered. "It means _squirrel."_

_"Squirrel?_ Did you find him climbing trees in Central Park?"

The boy's eyebrows went up. "Uh—no. He just came and asked me if I wanted to earn twenty bucks, said you would be here today."

With a sigh, Miss Parker opened the envelope. And there it was, the red notebook she had come to loathe the sight of. Broots and Sydney crowded around as she opened it. The first article was the short one she had read in the New York Times, the one about the man who fell out of the window. The second was longer and gave a full explanation of the police investigation and conclusions. One sentence stood out, highlighted in yellow: "The police report that they were greatly assisted in their efforts by an anonymous call from North Carolina and request anyone with knowledge of this anonymous genius to come forward and give them information."

_"North Carolina!"_ Miss Parker groaned. "He never left Mayberry to solve this crime! He only came to _taunt_ me!" She threw the manila envelope on the ground. Broots picked it up again.

"I think there's still something in here."

"Give me that." She drew out a cassette tape. "And what's this? His plans to invade the Centre by remote? _Again?"_

The boy obviously had no idea what she was talking about. "Mr. Ardilla said it was a recording he made of a friend playing guitar. Something to do with sheep."

Miss Parker stared at the cassette in her hand. _How_ did he know? He _always_ knew what was going to get to her.

"You listen. If you see this Mr. Squirrel again, give him a message from me. Tell him I said he should treat himself to a big bag of pistachios. Got it?"

"Uh—sure," the boy answered.

"Come on. We're done here."

As they got in the car, Sydney paused and looked across the parking lot to the park just beyond. "Look, Miss Parker! Chess players in the park."

"Would you forget the games, Sydney? Let's go!"

It was only as they were leaving the city that Broots noticed the date on the second newspaper article. "Miss Parker! This newspaper is today's paper! Jarod's still in New York!"

In the small park just on the other side of the parking lot, a group of people gathered around two chess players whose hands and brains moved like lightening, maneuvering pieces and slapping the timer. All too soon one groaned and conceded defeat, flicking over his king.

"You're too good for me, Jarod. I've never seen anyone here better than you. How long you been playing?"

Jarod looked at his watch. "About three hours." As everyone groaned and laughed, he smiled, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work."

"What do you do?"

He picked up a bucket and squeegee. "Today I'm an outside window washer. At the Empire State Building."

**The End**


End file.
